


Don't Call Me Baby

by TheReluctantShipper



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Coming Untouched, Dean Talks Dirty, Dirty Talk, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub Play, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Dean Winchester, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, M/M, Needy Castiel, Non-Graphic Violence, POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Panic Attacks, Power Play, Protective Dean Winchester, Rough Sex, Sassy Castiel, Sub Castiel, in the loosest sense of the word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-01-10 17:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12304188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheReluctantShipper/pseuds/TheReluctantShipper
Summary: Castiel Novak just has to keep his head down and his eyes on the prize, and soon he'll graduate high school and get to leave Lawrence, Kansas, and his shattered remnants of a family, behind.Enter Dean Winchester, who does not believe in keeping his head down, and seems to be fairly certain that when he's looking at Cas, his eyes are already on the prize.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is (obviously) a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership over any of the characters, or the world of Supernatural, however grateful for them I may be, which is hella.
> 
> I didn't hit underage for warning, because age of consent in Kansas is 16, and Cas is 17, but if that squicks you, maybe move along.
> 
> No posting schedule, because I am a garbage person comprised of garbage, and cannot commit to anything but my husband.

_“Get your ass back here!”_ his mother screams as Cas flees the rickety backdoor and into the chilly night.

 _Fat chance,_ he thinks as he runs through the backyard. He hops over the fence with the ease of a healthy, if kind of scrawny, teenager, and slows himself down to a more maintainable jog once he’s on the sidewalk. He curses himself for taking his hoodie off before dinner. He was hoping that Naomi’s good mood would hold out, so he shrugged the jacket off as an internal sign of good faith.

Didn’t take his sneakers off, though. Cas never takes his sneakers off. He doesn’t have _that_ much hope.

He slows again until he’s just walking, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, left bare by the thin band t-shirt he’s wearing, and glares at the houses he’s moving past. It’s an okay neighborhood once you get off of his block. These homes are well kept but worn, with front yards littered with toys and bikes and wild flower beds that were one-time summer projects, started with promises that they would be diligently tended. Now most of them are riots of colorful flowers and tall weeds because those promises weren’t kept.

In Castiel Novak’s experience, promises are never kept.

His own neighborhood is a reflection of that, of people who know better than to accept promises, much less make them. The yards are mostly packed dirt and scraggly grass, a few filthy toys on the ground, and half-dressed children running and screaming. Cas doesn’t have any real feelings one way or another toward the people who live in those houses, except for maybe a pang of disconnected sadness for the kids, because the likelihood of them getting something better is slim to none.

Cas wants to think _he’ll_ get something better than this slum of a place in Lawrence, Kansas, but he’s not holding his breath. Leaving means you need good grades, and Cas gets good _enough_ grades, but not only does he not particularly care about classes that leave him bored and restless, the teachers wrote him off as a loss _years_ ago. He was doomed as soon as they heard about his mother, about who his brothers are. It wasn’t the wrinkled hand-me-downs or torn backpack that did him in, no. Cas’ last name might as well be a sign on his forehead. “Worthless Nobody Doomed To Be A Delinquent Who Barely Graduates High School, If He Does It At All.”

It doesn’t really bother him anymore, but at ten years old, the slow realization that he was already not worth any effort whatsoever, for his teachers _or_ his classmates (and he’ll never be sure which is worse), that knowledge _stung._ He tells himself that he’s over it, that it doesn’t hurt anymore.

He’s lying, but if he says it loud enough and long enough, surely he’ll start to believe it.

A shiver alerts him to the fact that he’s going to need to find at least partial shelter for the night, and the cold does nothing to dull the ache on his left cheekbone. He knows it will swell and darken overnight, and when he goes to school tomorrow, it will look like he got into a fight. He’ll let everyone believe that Worthless Nobody Castiel Novak got into a fistfight, because as bad as Naomi is, getting taken away would be worse. Besides, he’s seventeen, and will be eighteen soon. There’s only a few months between Cas and freedom, and he’s not going to fuck it up now by snitching.

 _Shelter… Shelter…_ This is where if Castiel had any actual friends, he would go to them. Their mom, maybe, would be understanding about his predicament, and wouldn’t call the police, but would just pull him into the house with warmth and acceptance. She would feed him and wrap him in blankets and make sure he did his homework and…

 _And wow, I really must be losing it._ He brushes off the daydream and pretends he doesn’t have it damn near every day. Cas knows it’s not going to happen. The only person who’s even sort of a friend is Meg, and not only is her mother a raging bitch, Cas isn’t one hundred percent sure that Meg would give up her glass of water if his ass was on fire, much less put him up for the night. They just trade cigarettes and bitch about school together during lunch (which Meg refuses to eat and Cas doesn’t generally have money for). The word “friend” is stretching it.

He heaves a sigh and takes a left on Oak Street. This late at night, there aren’t a lot of options. During the day, he can go to the library, where it’s warm, at least, and he can read until his eyes cross and ache and no one will bother him. He thinks the librarians suspect why he’s there, but they never say anything about the fresh bruises or split lips or the memorable summer when he held his arm against his side gingerly for _three days_ until he finally showed back up with it in a cast and another black eye (earned by asking Naomi to take him to the doctor).

Castiel has learned that no one will ask you about that kind of thing, especially when you’re a Novak.

So the library is out because it’s closed, same for the only grocery store in reasonable walking distance. The post office has a little room up front that’s never locked, the one with the post office boxes, but people come in at all hours, and they’d give him the side-eye for sleeping in there. Normally it doesn’t bother him, but tonight, he’s just tired enough that Cas doesn’t want to deal with it. He just wants to sleep somewhere that he won’t be stared at, or woken up by a slap or a kick.

It really only leaves one place.

He gets to the park in just a few minutes, but his teeth are already chattering, so he clenches his jaw stubbornly as he makes his way to his destination.

The park is pretty standard. There’s a swingset and a couple of standalone slides and a fairly huge jungle gym that’s pretty much a little kid’s wet dream, if they could have them. The only thing that stands out as abnormal is the Tunnel.

Castiel has no idea who thought a metal tube with a seven foot diameter was a great addition to a playground, but that person was wrong. Castiel is grateful, because the Tunnel is usually pretty isolated and it keeps the wind and any rain or snow away, but it’s a fucking _death trap._ Kids get hurt all the time, either by cutting themselves on the edge (which isn’t even _dulled),_ or by falling on it, because metal has no give at all. It’s total insanity not to move the damn thing.

That doesn’t stop Cas from slinking into it, moving to the middle (the thing is like fifteen feet long, _what the fuck was it?),_ and hunkering down. It’s already a little warmer in here than out in the elements, and Cas breathes a soft sigh of relief at the lack of wind.

The park is empty because of the hour, and the small part of it that he can see from his position is dark and shadowed, more like a nightmare than a playground. Cas draws his legs up, wraps his arms around them, and rests his chin on his knees. It will take a while for him to fall asleep like this, but at least it’s sleep. If he was at home, he wouldn’t get any at all.

He shoves the thought away from him, too tired to deal with the implications, the unfairness of his life. The unfairness that he has to live in the dark shadows of his older brothers, both of whom left scars in the community and in their mother, too many scars for either to accept Castiel. The unfairness that his mother seemed to use up her love on Lucifer and Gabriel, and had nothing leftover for her youngest son, who at ten years old was bookish and quiet, undeserving of the harsh words and increasingly harsh hands he was dealt. The unfairness that the only way out seems to be to graduate high school, which Castiel is set to do, barely, to the surprise of his teachers. Cas knows he’s smart, though, and none of his fellow students care enough to know anything about him at all.

 _A few months,_ he tells himself again. _Just a few months, and I’m out of here._

He drifts to sleep on that thought.

* * *

 

_“Shit!”_

When Castiel wakes up to a boot in his ribs, it honestly gives him a little bit of nostalgia. It is, after all, how Luke used to wake them up for school.

That, however, is not his brother’s voice, and he is not, in fact, an eight year old being woken from a warm, if threadbare, bed. Castiel is seventeen, sleeping in a cold metal tube to get away from his harpy of a mother, and there is now a stranger in the tube with him.

He turns onto his back and glares up at the person who woke him up. The man is cloaked in shadow and breathing heavily. It looks like he’s wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, which Cas would judge him for, but it looks warm as fuck, so he’s really just jealous.

“What the _fuck?”_ The man is whispering, which makes Castiel suspicious, because who whispers in an empty park?

“What the fuck, indeed,” Castiel says dryly, refusing to lower his voice.

Which sends the stranger into a panic. He immediately drops to his knees next to where Cas has propped himself up on his elbows and puts his hand over Cas’ mouth, which, _rude._

“Would you shut the fuck up?” the stranger hisses, his face close to Cas’, where a beam of light from the streetlamp outside illuminates his face.

Three things happen at once.

The first is that Castiel realizes that the man in front of him is one of the most incredibly beautiful human beings that he’s ever seen. His features are lovely, bordering on delicate, but Cas can see that even now he’s starting to lead more toward ruggedly handsome than feminine. Dirty blonde hair, green eyes, freckles dusted over his nose and cheekbones. He’s magnificent.

The second thing is that Castiel realizes that the person kneeling next to him, glaring down at him with those stunning eyes, is _Dean fucking Winchester,_ of the Campbell-Winchester family, as in _the fucking mob._ He’s currently at the mercy of a _literal_ gangster.

The only reason Cas knows this is because of the library. He browses the newspapers sometimes. It’s because he’s bored, and certainly not because he likes the way they change almost every day, the way they all tell stories that are constantly evolving, the way that the stories are told impartially, to an audience that’s a sea of blank faces. When Cas is reading the newspaper, it’s like someone is talking to him, someone who doesn’t know or care how many people Luci has hurt, or how many scams Gabe is currently running, or what a bitch Naomi is.

(Interestingly enough, if one were to ask Castiel if he was lonely, he would be surprised, bark a laugh, and say, “No, of course not.” Because he’s been repressing that feeling of being alone for almost ten years now, and he doesn’t really recognize the emotion that hollows his chest and burns the backs of his eyes sometimes, not anymore.)

So it’s because Cas reads newspapers (because they’re _interesting,_ there’s no other reason) that he recognizes Dean’s face from the front pages. He’s been suspected for any number of crimes, though as far as Cas knows, never murder or rape. Just some assaults, which looked to the teenager more like bar brawls than any sort of organized crime. Dean has a reputation for being a bit of a wild card, although that’s just what Cas has gleaned from between the lines of the articles he read, it’s never actually been said outright.

It’s because of the second thing that the third thing happens, really. The third thing is regrettable, done in a moment of adrenaline tinged with fear, an action executed before Castiel’s brain has a chance to really process everything that’s happened in the last forty-five seconds.

The third thing is that Cas bites the ever-loving shit out of Dean Winchester’s hand.

To his credit, Dean doesn’t cry out. He does yank his hand away and hiss in pain, shaking it out gently. Then, cradling the injured appendage against his (admittedly, very nice) chest, he glares at Cas. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks, still whispering. “Are you up to date on your shots?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Rabies joke, very original.” He’s still not whispering.

It still makes Dean’s eyes widen in panic. “Will you _shut up?”_

Another eye roll. “Why?

“Because, in case it’s escaped your notice, we’re _hiding._ As in, _someone is in pursuit.”_

Cas shakes his head and cocks an eyebrow. _“I’m_ not hiding from _anyone.”_ He’s started whispering, if only so the handsome man in the tunnel with him won’t have a coronary.

“Well, _I’m_ hiding, and since you’re in here with me, now you’re hiding, too.” Dean grins. “Plus, I’m guessing from the fangs you sunk into my hand, you recognize me, so you’re _definitely_ hiding, too.”

A little chill winds its way down Cas’ spine. “Excuse me?”

“Well, it’s either keep you here with me or kill you, and I don’t really dig murder.”

The word choice makes Castiel frown, even as the intent makes his heart thud in his chest. “You don’t ‘dig’ murder? What are you, thirteen?” Dean snorts, but Cas continues. “And what are you hiding from, precisely?” Because if it’s the police, if Cas makes enough noise, they’ll come find them, and he will no longer be trapped in a giant metal tube with a crazy mobster (and what even is his life now?).

Dean scowls and wags the finger on his good hand (Cas notices with interest that there’s already a pretty hefty bruise on Dean’s other hand, which makes him smug, even as a little bit of heat curls at the base of his spine, because oh, oh yes, he would _love_ to mark this man up with teeth and tongue).

“Now, before you start damselling in distress, I’ll have you know that I’m _not_ currently running from the cops, so get that idea right out of your head.”

Cas frowns harder. “I don’t know what ‘damselling’ is, but I’m fairly certain that I’ve never done any such thing.”

Dean blinks, then chuckles. “Babe, you kinda _scream_ ‘save me.’”

“I most certainly do not.”

A casual shrug. “Whatever gets you through the day.” Dean looks around. “I’m not real familiar with this area. Are they gonna find us here?”

Cas glares at him. “Who is ‘they?’ It depends on if they’re from around here, honestly.”

“Don’t worry about ‘they,’” Dean says evenly. “Just tell me the likelihood of us getting caught.”

“Or what? You’ll kill me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. _“Jesus,_ are you always this difficult?”

Cas considers the question or a moment. “Probably, yeah.”

Dean blinks again, then snickers with his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the noise. “All right, all right,” he says finally, “It’s the Walkers.”

Nonplussed, “Who the fuck are the Walkers?”

Dean snorts. “Uh, sort of a rival gang? I dunno, though, we’re not really on the same level. They do some fucked up stuff. We just do guns.”

“And drugs.”

Dean nods. “And drugs.”

Cas sighs. “Okay, what did you do to the Walkers?”

Dean’s eyebrows go up. “What makes you think I did anything to anyone?”

“Because I’ve known you for seven seconds?”

Dean hmphs. “Okay, whatever. It’s nothing, it’s just this girl.”

A little spear of disappointment makes itself known in Cas’ chest. Of _course_ there’s a girl, of _course_ Dean Winchester is straight. He ignores it to wave his hand in a “go on” motion.

“One of the Walkers, kid named Gordon, little older than me, he’s hasslin’ Lenore because she’s a working girl, and he thinks he should get whatever he wants for free because he just got initiated.” Dean starts to scowl, and his voice starts to get a little louder the angrier he gets. “So Lenore tells him to buzz off, because shit, she’s got a little sister to take care of, she can’t afford to be giving it away for free, and Gordon doesn’t like that too much, so he hits her a couple of times, smacks her around pretty good. What he didn’t know, though, is that Lenore and I had a dinner date, see. So I come around the corner in time to stop him from hurting her too bad.” At this point, Dean looks down, almost sheepish. “I got kind of a temper, you know, and Lenny’s good people. So I beat the shit out of him, and now they’re out for blood.”

“So, they’re angry because you beat this Gordon person up, which you did because he was beating up a hooker?” So Cas is a little incredulous, sue him, because _gangster with a heart of gold_ is a little bit of a leap for him to believe.

Dean shrugs a little. “Yeah, and I mean, I went to my old man, but he’s kind of a dick, and basically said, ‘I’m not starting a damn war because you’re a damn fool,’ which is _bullshit,_ because it’s not like I _meant_ to, it’s just that he was hitting Lenny! And Lenny’s got enough bullshit to deal with without some dickwad like Gordon sniffin’ around-“

As Dean quietly rants, Castiel considers his options. Dean is younger than he originally thought, probably twenty at the most, which surprises Cas. His list of ‘dastardly deeds’ is a bit long, but if Dean’s telling the truth about Gordon and Lenore (and Cas is decidedly ignoring the little twinge of jealousy he gets when Dean calls her “Lenny”), it means that some of those assaults may be more innocent than they seem, if they’re in defense of someone else.

Cas has also stopped being afraid of the person in front of him. He has serious trouble believing Dean wants to hurt him, he’s just too… Open. Honest? Earnest. He’s defending himself to Cas, who he doesn’t know, insisting that Gordon deserved what he got, and God help him if Cas doesn’t believe it.

“They won’t catch us in here,” he whispers, trying to both remind Dean that he needs to shut the hell up, and almost wincing when he says “we,” because he does _not_ want to be a part of this, right? “It’s hard to see in either end of you’re not standing directly at the entrance, and that side backs up to the hill, so they’d need to be pretty much right on top of us to see in.” Cas shrugs. “And I doubt they saw you come in. They’d be in here already if they had.”

Dean nods. “Good, okay. So we’re good for now.”

“Yeah.”

An awkward silence ensues, but Cas doesn’t mind awkward silences. In his experiences, if someone’s silent, it means they’re not berating him, so he almost prefers it, awkward or no.

Unfortunately, Dean seems to be one of those people who can’t deal with the quiet.

“So, uh, I kinda… Gotta take you with me,” he says quickly, like he wants to get it out before he loses his nerve.

Cas is back to frowning. “Take me with you?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I can’t leave you here, you recognized me, and I got warrants out this way.”

“I don’t suppose assuring you that I won’t tell anyone about this will help?” _Who would I tell?_

Dean shakes his head. “No dice, I can’t have you runnin’ off, tellin’ all your friends that you saw Dean Winchester here. Even if you just tell one person, that’s too much risk, and I’m in too much hot water with my old man already to chance it.”

Cas snorts before he can stop himself, then casts his eyes away from Dean so he doesn’t have to look at him. “I can assure you, not only do I have no one to tell, even if I did, no one would believe me.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little bit crazy, huh? Me runnin’ into you while you’re…” Cas hears the frown appear in his words. “Hey, why _are_ you sleeping in here?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Dean, it appears, has no intention of doing that. “I mean, you’re not homeless, your clothes are clean.” When Cas looks back at the Tunnel’s other occupant, he finds himself the object of pretty intense scrutiny. “You _are_ kinda skinny, but you’ve got that vibe, you know, the kinda kid who can eat a horse and still weigh eighty pounds soaking wet.” Cas opens his mouth to object (or correct Dean, because Cas can’t properly remember the last time he had a real meal), but he’s overridden by Dean’s rising curiosity (or concern, it’s hard to tell).

“I mean, your shoes are kind of shot, but isn’t that the look these days? I dunno, I don’t keep up with that crap, I’ll have to ask Sammy. And you need a haircut, but isn’t that the look, too?”

“Dean, shut up,” Cas says easily. “It’s no big deal, I can go with you.”

Dean ignores him, which Cas is learning is par for the course. “You’re rocking some stubble, which means either you don’t shave on purpose, or you can’t, because, what? You can’t afford to?”

 _“Dean,”_ Cas says severely. “Drop it. You can take me with you.”

Dean huffs. “Like you had a choice,” he mutters darkly, eyes still scanning Cas. “Look, babe, we gotta hang out here until I think we’re safe, anyway, you may as well tell me why you were in here.”

“I may as well not,” Cas snaps. Not his most clever retort, but he’s tired and cold and he doesn’t want to talk about this.

Dean rolls his eyes and rearranges himself so he’s lying crossways in the tube, his head near Cas’ feet. “Touchy,” he comments easily.

Cas ignores him to lie back down and glare at the top of the Tunnel. The wind is making the trees rustle and the swings sway outside, screeching softly carrying its way to the two hidden men.

Cas is irrationally angry, he knows. It’s certainly not Dean’s fault that, should he disappear tonight, no one would miss him. Oh, maybe Gabe would notice, but he certainly wouldn’t _worry._ He’s too busy scamming people and chasing his completely insane girlfriend to notice Cas. The thought that Luke or Naomi would notice almost makes Cas chuckle. Ridiculous.

“Sorry,” Dean says eventually. “I, uh, sometimes I don’t know when to stop.”

Cas leaves the silence be, because he doesn’t know what to say, really. This is probably the longest conversation he’s had with another person for weeks, at least, if not month. God knows he and Naomi don’t talk, not anymore, his brothers are in the wind, and the only person he talks to is Meg. Their conversations are pretty limited to “Got a smoke?” and “I hate this place.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says finally. “My ‘people skills’ are ‘rusty.’” He raises his hands to do the air quotes, though he’s sure Dean is staring at the ceiling just like he is.

Dean huffs a laugh. “Sweetheart, I’m kidnapping you from a tunnel in a playground. As far as manners go, you’ve got the upper hand.”

“Stop calling me pet names.”

“Well, I don’t know your real name, what do you want me to call you?”

“Ideally, you wouldn’t call me anything, and you’d just let me go home.”

He sees in his peripherals that Dean sits up to look at him, but Cas doesn’t let his eyes leave the point on the ceiling of the Tunnel that they’re looking at. “Look, if I could, I would, but I’m trying not to be as stupid as my father thinks I am,” Dean says gently. He seems to think for a moment, then, “Here’s the plan. I’m going to take you with me tonight. A few towns over, maybe, or in a couple of days, I’ll drop you at a bus station with enough cash to get back.”

Cas considers that for a moment, then shrugs. “All right.”

“And listen,” Dean says, earnest again, his green eyes shining in the paltry light still getting in when Cas looks up to meet his gaze. “We can leave a note for your parents, or whatever, so they’re not worried. It’ll be like a vacation, really, ‘cause I got no plans, just me, the open road, and my Baby.” His grin turns rakish. “And now you.”

Cas ignores the part about leaving a note for Naomi, because she won’t care. “Baby?”

“Hell, yeah. My ‘67 Impala. Best damn thing that ever happened to me.”

His words are light and even, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and Cas just doesn’t understand that. What’s happening here? Dean is a _gangster._ He should be intimidating Cas, or hurting him, or restraining him. Instead, they’re lying here like they’re… Like they’re _friends._ Or, like Cas assumes friends would act, anyway.

“Dean, what would you do if I tried to run?”

“I’d catch you.” The words are easy, confident. Dean has no doubt that he could catch Cas.

“Would you, now?”

Dean chuckles. “Well, I mean, yeah. Again, you’re kind of scrawny, and no offense, but you smell like an ashtray. That shit kills your lungs.”

Cas doesn’t bother to point out that the cigarettes Dean smells are from Naomi, not himself. Cas hides his habit better than his mother does.

Cas is good at hiding things.

“I don’t know, I’ve got long legs, and I’m familiar with the area. I might know of some hiding places that I could use to get away.”

He feels Dean shrug. “Maybe, but I think you could have done that already if you were going to. I dunno, babe, I think that you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

The words send chills through Cas’ spine. “Excuse me?”

“In my experience, people who wanna go home try to fight their way there. You haven’t been fightin’ me all that hard.”

How _dare_ he? How dare he pretend he knows Cas? How dare he act like he has any goddamn idea what Cas goes through, what Cas lives with, what Cas has lived _through._

“Fuck you,” he says softly, vehemently, trying to inject as much poison as he can into the words.

Dean sits up, but Cas stares at the ceiling stubbornly, fuming. “Look, sweetheart, I got no idea what’s goin’ on with you, I really don’t. What I do know, is that when I crawled in here and kicked the shit out of you, not only did you not hunch over like it hurt, you just glared at me like I ran into your bedroom and took the blanket.”

By this time, Cas’ eyes have drifted down to meet Dean’s, outside of his own volition. Dean’s eyes are searching, still earnest, and soft. It’s just this side of too much, and Cas almost looks away. He doesn’t, he manages to keep eye contact, but it’s a close thing.

“What’s your name?” Dean’s words are gentle, reverent, almost lost in the ambient noise of being outside at night.

“Cas,” he replies. “My name is Cas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gets my motor running.


	2. Chapter Two

Cas isn’t sure how he got here.

Oh, yeah, he knows that at some point, after staring soulfully at one another (in a moment he will _never_ tell anyone about, _ever),_ Dean declared that enough time passed and they could go “introduce” Cas to his “baby.”

And he knows that they walked through the park casually, instead of running like he assumed they would. “Cas, you walk like you’re guilty, people are gonna assume you’re guilty,” Dean said easily when Cas inquired, “but if you walk like you belong, people are gonna assume you belong.”

He _also_ understands that after Dean was done cooing at the black beast of a car he led Cas to that they simply got in, Dean started the engine, and they drove off.

He just isn’t sure how, in the last twenty minutes, he got to the point where he’s arguing with a real life mobster about giving him directions to Cas’ house.

“Dean, if you’re going to kidnap me, you’re doing a _terrible_ job of it.”

“Dude!” Dean insists. “We have to leave, like, a note or somethin’. Your ‘rents will be worried.”

 _This is ridiculous._ “Listen, Dean. You can either drop me off at this corner and let me go home with the promise that I won’t tell a soul, which I do, in fact, promise, or we can go wherever it is you intended to go in the first place.” Cas turns to meet Dean’s eyes. “But I am not, under any circumstances, telling you where I live.”

Dean puts a dramatic hand to his chest. “Where’s the trust, Cas? We’ve know each other for so long-“

“Approximately eighteen minutes, calm down.”

Dean ignores him. “-and you’re still questioning whether I have your best interests at heart.”

Cas takes in a deep breath, then lets it out all in a _whoosh._ “Dean, please,” he says softly. “Either let me out of the car or take us somewhere else. You are _not_ going to my home.”

“Do you think I’ll hurt your family?” Dean’s voice is carefully flat.

Cas has learned, in the last eighteen (now nineteen) minutes, that Dean is an exceptionally _feeling_ human being. His emotions run deep, it’s obvious even to a near stranger like Castiel, but he pretends that they don’t. Dean wants to be stoic, so Cas lets him pretend that he is, though he suspects they both know the truth about _that._

He thinks about it for a moment, though, because he wants to be honest. “No,” he finally says, his conscience clear, “I’m not worried about you hurting them.” He keeps his pronouns vague, not because he really does worry about Naomi, but because Dean doesn’t need to know all that much about Cas, so he’s going to keep everything he can a secret. “My family is just… Um… Not very pleasant.”

Dean grins, and Cas rolls his eyes. “Aw, you worried about impressin’ me, baby?”

“Stop calling me baby. And no, my reluctance to facilitate an introduction between you and my family has quite literally nothing to do with you.”

“Do you always talk like you just swallowed a dictionary?”

“Yes.”

Dean heaves a put upon sigh, and Cas rolls his eyes. “You really don’t want to tell them where you are? Who you’re with, maybe?”

Cas turns to stare at him incredulously. “What, exactly, about being kidnapped by the mob is supposed to comfort them?”

Dean scoffs. “Don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart, you haven’t been kidnapped by the _entire_ mob. Hell, you’re barely even being kidnapped.”

“I beg to differ.”

Dean winks. “I’ll have you begging, baby.”

Cas rolls his eyes again and continues to banter, but his heart isn’t really in it. This whole thing has kind of taken on the too-bright, surreal quality of a fever dream. A little less than an hour ago, he was fleeing his mother’s sharp voice and fists, and now he’s… _Whatever_ this is with Dean. Who has begun to drum his fingers against the steering wheel to some vaguely familiar beat in his head. Like he’s a normal person taking a normal drive with a normal friend. Well, that’s what Cas assumes it would look like if someone was driving with a friend, anyway.

The whole thing has just been so… Easy. Somehow, he trusts Dean already, knows that Dean won’t hurt him. Cas doesn’t find it easy to be with people, he’s defensive and prickly and awkward, but with Dean, it just… _Is._

It’s freaking Cas the fuck out, and as the two of them fall into a natural silence, he tries to figure out just what the hell he’s doing here.

* * *

Cas wins the “let’s leave a note for your family” war, mostly by refusing to speak to Dean whatsoever until they hit city limits. After much cajoling and eye rolling, Dean gives in and drives them away.

Once they’re out of Lawrence, Cas relaxes a little bit. He really _isn’t_ worried that Dean will hurt Naomi, he’s more concerned that she would call the cops and try to get Dean arrested. The thought of being the reason Dean goes to jail makes Cas’ stomach roll into tight little knots.

They drive for a long time before Dean deems it safe to stop for the night. They pull into a motel that would look at home in a post-apocalyptic world, and Cas side-eyes the man next to him as he parks the behemoth of a car.

“Am I going to wake up in a bathtub full of ice?”

Dean snorts. _“Please,_ like we do organ trading. Do you know what kind of risk that shit has?”

Cas frowns. “And the whole moral issue of _stealing people’s organs.”_

A nod. “Yeah, there’s that, too.” At Cas’ raised eyebrow, “Look, _I_ don’t go rooting around in people’s insides for cash. And, hello, crime family. Do you blame me if getting caught was my first concern?”

“… _Yes.”_

Dean groans dramatically. _“Ugh,_ whatever.” Cas fights a smile at the theatrics, but feels it slide away when Dean sobers and averts his gaze awkwardly.

“Look, Cas, no offense or anything, but, I, uh…” He brings a hand up to rub hard at the back of his neck.

When he remains silent, Cas muses, “You know, people really only say ‘no offense’ when they’re about to say or do something rude.” He looks over at the other man. “So? What are you about to do?”

Dean just stares at him. “You’re kinda a weird dude, Cas.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Dean heaves a sigh. “I gotta tie you up.” He says it fast, like he did when he announced that he’d be kidnapping Cas.

Cas feels his blood freeze in his veins. _Of course._ He’s not here because he’s Dean’s _friend,_ he’s here because he’s Dean’s _hostage._ The reason it’s so easy, is it because they already have clearly defined roles, kidnapper and victim, and not because he just genuinely gets along with the green-eyed man? The thought makes his heart clench unexpectedly, and Cas realizes that he really _was_ kind of hoping that he and Dean could be… Friends. _Jesus, I’m a mess._

The way he’s fighting with his ridiculous, impossible little fantasies must show on his face, because Dean hurries to try to soften the blow.

“It’s just while I go check in. I swear to Christ, and then I’ll be right back out.”

Cas swallows and nods. “Okay.”

Dean blinks. “Really?”

“What? If I said ‘no,’ you wouldn’t do it?”

“Well, I mean, of course not, I just…” Dean rubs the back of his neck. “I guess I didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Cas sighs and deliberates for a moment, trying to decide how much to share with Dean.

Because Cas doesn’t share much with anyone. No one knows (or, at least, no one _acknowledges)_ about the battlefield that is his home life. Meg doesn’t know anything but that his mom is a bitch, and Cas assumes that she thinks it’s the same level as her own mother. Even Gabriel doesn’t know how bad it’s gotten, how much worse it’s been since he left. Cas intends to keep it that way, has always intended to keep it that way. Despite everything, he loves his brothers (mostly Gabriel, maybe Lucifer), and he doesn’t want him to know what Cas goes through on a daily basis.

Maybe, though… Maybe Cas is tired of hiding it. Maybe if he lets out just a little, just a _tiny_ bit, to this man that he’ll spend a day or two with at most and then never see again, maybe some of this yawning chasm that makes up where his heart is supposed to be will close up, just a little. Maybe it’ll become almost bearable.

“Yeah, well, you weren’t far off when you said I have nowhere else to be,” he mutters, turning to put his gaze firmly on the dashboard. Now that the words are out of his mouth, though, as vague as they are, he kind of regrets saying anything. He doesn’t want Dean to ask questions, and he worries that it’s too much to hope for that he’ll just let it go.

“What does that mean?”

Yup. Too much to hope for.

Cas sighs. “It just means that it’s fine to tie me up, if that’s what will make you go check into the room.”

“Cas…”

“Drop it, Dean,” Cas warns softly. “What do you have in here to restrain me with?”

Dean is silent for another beat, but Cas keeps avoiding his eyes, and eventually he hears Dean exhale sharply and lean forward to dig around in the glove box. “Should be some rope in here,” he says gruffly.

Cas remains silent as Dean pulls out a length of rope and closes the glove compartment. Without thinking, Cas presents his wrists, hands fisted, crossed over one another, right over left. He does it this way out of habit.

Dean cocks and eyebrow and just looks at him. Unbelievably, Cas feels himself start to blush.

Because Castiel Novak is many, many things. He’s snarky, smart, and in possession of a very dry sense of humor. He’s kind of a closet nerd, but he’s not in the closet about being gay as fuck. He’s skinny, but muscular enough to pack a mean right hook, if he does say so himself.

He is not, however, about to tell Dean Winchester about Inias Carter, or their tendencies in the bedroom.

Luckily, Dean doesn’t say anything. He just smirks and starts to loop the rope around, tying Cas quickly and efficiently, and if that gets Cas’ motor running enough that he has to start reciting the alphabet in his head backwards to keep his body under control… Well, that’s Cas’ business, anyway.

Once he’s done, Dean leans back to admire his handiwork, then nods. “Well, that’s that, I guess.”

Cas looks at the other man and tilts his head. “Shouldn’t you gag me, too?”

Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You’re kind of a kinky fucker, sweetheart.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You’re terrible.”

A wink that sets Cas’ stupid, traitorous heart fluttering, and a grin. “You like it.” Dean opens his door. “I’ll be right back, and don’t go screaming your fool head off.”

“Yes, dear.”

It’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes as he gets out of the car. “Shaddup and stay here.”

Cas watches the older man walk to the office of the office. It’s all swagger and bravado, and Cas can’t help the way his eyes are drawn to those long bowlegs.

He looks back at the dashboard once Dean is out of sight. He really is starting to believe the whole _gangster with a heart of gold_ shtick, because as well done as the binding on his hands is (and, again, if he has to fight the flash of heat that goes through him with that thought then, again, that’s his business alone), it’s not stopping him from opening the door, or running, or _yelling._ He even _brought up_ the idea of a gag, and Dean laughed it off.

Either he really believes that cas has nowhere else to go, or he really is that much of a kind person, as much as he may try to hide it. Cas suspects that the truth contains a bit of both.

Now that the excitement is dying down, and the car is turned off, the cold starts seeping into him again. He shivers and hunches over a little, curling into himself. The left side of his face is also starting to ache again, the bruise his lovely mother left him with making itself known. He brings his hands up to prod gently at his cheekbone. There’s definitely swelling, and he was right, it’s _definitely_ going to bruise, but his vision is unaffected, so that means no black eye. That, at least, can be put into the “win” column.

The fact that he only got a few hours of sleep before Dean woke him up, a few hours of _bad_ sleep at that, is starting to catch up with him, too. He doesn’t even try to fight the urge to close his eyes and lean his head back. Dean locked the car doors, so no one’s sneaking up on him. Besides, Cas feels inexplicably safe here, in this car that smells like Dean, this car that seems to exude Dean’s personality. _Stupid, but true._

He may doze on and off, so it feels like just a few minutes and at least an hour passes before Dean opens the driver’s side door again. Cas rolls his head against the headrest to look over at him. Dean’s eyes flash with something, too fast for Cas to read, before his face relaxes into an easy smile. “Ready?”

Cas nods and holds up his hands for Dean to untie him. It seems like the other man’s fingers linger on his wrists for a beat or two longer than necessary, but Cas figures it’s his tired imagination working overtime.

They’re silent as Dean grabs a beat up duffel from the trunk (Cas rolls his eyes when Dean leans down to whisper to the car, because _for fuck’s sake)._ Cas follows the other man to the motel room door, watches with detached interest as he unlocks it and leads them in.

It’s a fairly standard motel room from what Cas can see. Dingy, yellowing wallpaper with what used to be clouds (he thinks) on it, carpet that’s a color that defies description, an old TV on a shoddy dresser, and two queen beds. Luxurious though it is not, Cas tries to remember the last time he slept on a mattress that wasn’t on the floor, much less a queen.

Dean deposits his duffel on the bed closest to the door with a flourish. “Home sweet motel room.” He turns to face Cas, his arms spread, and a wide grin on his face. “Whaddaya think, sweet…” The smile slides away. “...heart…”

Cas cocks his head. “Well, it’s certainly not the _nicest_ place I’ve been taken to after being kidnapped, but-”

“Cas, what the _fuck?”_

The teenager blinks. “Granted, I was a kidnapping virgin, but-”

Dean rolls his eyes and crosses the room in quick strides. “Shut _up._ What the hell happened to your _face?”_

 _Shit. Deflect._ “Well, it’s stuck this way, you see-”

Dean’s up in his space now, making Cas flush and cut off his smart-ass remark. He tries to back up, but Dean’s hand is wrapping around his upper arm, and the warmth seeping into his skin is rendering him utterly speechless.

Dean uses his other hand to cup Cas’ chin and tilt his face into the light, presumably so he can see the bruising better. A few moments pass in silence, then, “... Cas?”

Dean’s voice is soft and small, almost timid, and Cas flicks his eyes to look at him. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean swallows hard, and Cas watches in fascination as anger and sadness war across his lovely features. “Is this the reason you don’t have anywhere to go?”

Ah, and now they’re at another crossroads. At least, Castiel is.

Does he lie? Does he tell Dean that he fell, or that he got into a fight at school? Does he create a familiar story of himself as a troublemaker who causes more harm than good? Does he let Dean believe what everyone else believes about him?

Or… _Or,_ does he let himself have one person, just one, _literally_ just one person, outside of himself, who knows everything?

Cas speaks before he can talk himself out of it. “Among other things.” He wishes his voice was strong and snarky, but it barely comes out above a whisper.

The anger wins out for a moment before Dean closes his eyes. Cas watches him struggle for control, hardly able to think about the feeling of Dean Winchester’s hands on his bare skin.

Dean’s eyes finally open again, and Cas gladly lets himself get a little lost in the green there. “All right, I’ll get you some ice.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “For what? I’ve been cold all night, I think that’s probably sufficient.”

“Well… Well, then, what can I do?”

Confused, Cas frowns. “What can you do about what?”

“What can I do to help you, Cas?”

It’s just a few words, but they totally floor Castiel. “Help… Me? Help me with what?”

Dean’s not stepping back, or really giving Cas any room to breathe or think. He lifts his hand from Cas’ chin until he’s cupping his cheek, running a very gentle thumb over the bruise there. It’s kind of lovely, and all sorts of completely disarming.

“I dunno,” Dean murmurs. “I just want to help.”

Cas drags in a breath and hopes Dean doesn’t hear how shuddery it is. “There’s nothing.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

Cas shakes his head. “I mean it. What could you possibly do?”

“Kick someone’s ass?”

That brings an unwilling smile to Cas’ face. “I’m sure you beating up my hundred pound mother would be quite a sight, but I’m afraid I must ask you to refrain.”

Dean’s face goes slack in horror. “Your _mom?_ Your _mom_ did this to you?” 

Cas winces. _Here it comes._ The, “what’s wrong with you?” The, “what’s wrong with _her?”_ The, “why haven’t you told someone,” to which his reply about the devil you know never seems to be well received.

Dean, however, manages to surprise him again.

He genuinely does not recognize what’s happening when Dean’s arms go around him and crush him to Dean’s chest. Dean’s a couple of inches taller than Cas, but he still hooks his chin over Cas’ shoulder as he holds him tight. “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Cas’ arms are still at his sides. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”

The other man _(boy?)_ huffs a laugh, but doesn’t let go. “I know, sweetheart. It’s what people say when bad shit goes down and there’s nothing anyone can say to fix it.”

“Oh.”

“... It’s also customary to hug _back,_ babe.”

“Oh, oh, of course.” Cas blushes and brings his arms up and around Dean’s shoulders. This whole thing is just bizarre, it’s completely out of his realm of experience.

Dean chuckles, making Cas curl his toes in his sneakers, and tucks Cas closer. “This might be the weirdest kidnapping in history.” Cas feels his stomach swoop when Dean presses a barely there kiss to his temple. “Wanna top it off with pizza and Star Trek?”

* * *

Castiel cannot remember if he has ever been this comfortable.

Dean seems to have taken it upon himself to coddle Cas. Which he would object to, loudly, if he had any way to anticipate the moves Dean is making. It’s all random, baffling, and it’s keeping Cas off-kilter.

(Cas cannot predict what Dean is doing because, quite simply, it has been so long since someone has taken care of him. It has been a very, very long time since someone gave a damn if Castiel ate, or if his clothes fit, or if he was enjoying what was on the television. Cas just doesn’t recognize it.)

First, he asked Cas what toppings he wanted on the pizza. Cas doesn’t know if he’s ever been asked that question (Once, when he was seven. He asked for pepperoni. Lucifer ignored him.), so he has no earthly idea how to answer it. He shrugs, and is grateful that Dean takes it as, “I don’t care,” instead of, “I don’t know.”

Dean also insisted that Cas take the first shower. Not that showers mystify Cas, obviously. It’s just… No one has ever _forced_ him to take the first one. It’s… Strange.

 _Then,_ once they were both clean (and they both decidedly didn’t mention the fact that Cas had ample opportunity to escape while Dean was in the bathroom, and then also didn’t mention that he made no move to do so), done with dinner, and settled on their separate beds, Dean launches into an explanation of the first episode of Star Trek they come across after Cas confesses that he hasn’t seen much of it. This is a lie. Cas hasn’t seen _any_ Star Trek. The Novaks don’t own a television anymore. Cas thinks Gabe hawked it after a deal gone bad. Cas was thirteen, and had already lost the ability to be appalled by his brother’s actions.

The thing is, Cas doesn’t understand what’s going on. What is Dean even _doing?_ They’ve only known one another for a few hours, and now it’s like they’re actually friends. Dean didn’t even _mention_ restraining Cas while he was in the bathroom.

Cas sneaks a look at Dean, who’s enraptured in the show. Like this, in a t-shirt and flannel sleep pants, he looks younger. Only a few years older than Castiel himself. It… Perturbs Cas.

“Dean, I don’t want your pity.”

Dean turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“I don’t want your pity. Just because I’m poor doesn’t mean I need to be taken care of.”

Dean’s brow furrows. “What does money have to do with being taken care of?”

Cas frowns. _“That’s_ what you took from that?”

Dean ignores him to look back toward the TV, unseeing now. “Cas, it isn’t because you’re poor. Or because I think you’re weak, or whatever.”

Cas makes a disbelieving sound, but before he can word his protest, Dean’s talking again.

“When I said that you scream, ‘save me,’ I meant that it just kind of seems to me like you’ve been watching out for yourself for, like, too long. It’s not like you _need_ someone to save you, but… I mean, I got nowhere else to be, and I kinda _want_ to save you.”

Cas is almost struck silent. “Why?” he whispers, bewildered.

Dean looks over at him again. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t tell me that this… _Whatever_ this feeling is, is one-sided.”

Cas thinks about it for a moment. He thinks about how hurt he was when Dean tied him up _(not turned on, don’t think about that)._ He thinks about how, outside of the first few moments, Cas has never felt unsafe with Dean.

“No,” he says softly, still all kinds of confused. “No, it’s not one-sided.”

And doesn’t that just scare the _fuck_ out of Cas?

Because Cas isn’t connected to anyone. He doesn’t have friends, and his family isn’t around (Gabriel cares, he knows, but Gabriel cares _more_ about making money and scamming people). Cas doesn’t _like_ people, and he’s not really _likeable,_ either. It’s best that way, for all involved, because Castiel’s life is a poisonous cloud, noxious gas that destroys everything it touches. How else would his family have fallen apart like it did? Why else would his mother have turned into an abusive shrew? Or Lucifer into a murderer, or Gabe into a con man? The common denominator here is Cas, anyone can see it, so the way he already feels about Dean is… Scary.

(Cas absolutely, one hundred percent believes this to be true about himself.)

“Cas,” Dean says gently. “I can feel you overthinking from here.”

“I am not,” Cas replies immediately, automatically.

“Just chill out babe,” Dean says, still gentle, still easy. He picks up the remote and turns the TV off. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

Cas just nods dumbly and watches Dean lean up and turn the light next to his bed off. At Dean’s cocked eyebrow, Cas does the same to his own light.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Cas can’t even bring himself to protest the endearment. “Good night, Dean.”

* * *

Cas wakes up to very, very early sunrise starting to stream through the gaps in the curtain, turning the room a dull gray. He frowns a little, trying to understand why he woke up. Cas is _not_ a morning person. _Why the hell am I awake?_

A frantic rustling and a whimper from across the room answer his question for him. He sits up and rubs his eyes hard before looking over at his, for lack of a better word, captor.

Dean’s skin is shiny with sweat. He’s thrashing in his bed, fighting some enemy that only he can see. The desolate, sad sounds coming from his throat are tugging insistently at Cas’ heart.

Dean is having a nightmare, and for the first time since they found each other in the Tunnel, Cas knows exactly what to do with Dean.

(Lucifer used to have terrible nightmares, especially when the hurting people got really bad. And though their family wasn’t truly poor yet, they still weren’t comfortable, so the three Novak boys shared a bedroom. Which meant that Cas heard every nightmare.

Each time he was awakened by Luke’s deep moans of distress, eight-year-old Cas would clamber down from his top bunk and into his big brother’s bed. Luke, almost a full ten years older than his youngest brother, rarely woke up fully. Cas was careful not to jostle him too much.

Cas would curl up at the head of the bed, mostly out of the way like only skinny children can be. He would then start to gently run his fingers through Luci’s thick blonde, though he started to dye it black a year before he left, hair and hum whatever song came into his head. Cas listened to classical music then, and though Luke called it girly, it never failed to calm him down during a nightmare.

The mornings after, they never mentioned it, but Luke would pull Cas into a tight hug and press a hard kiss onto his head. It was always enough thanks for Cas.)

Cas quietly crawls out of his own bed and shuffles over to Dean’s. He’s too tall to curl around Dean’s head like he did to Luci, but he slips between the covers and pulls Dean to his chest with an arm around his waist. With the other hand he begins to card gentle fingers through Dean’s hair. He presses his lips to the other man’s forehead and starts to hum a Beatles song (his music taste has changed drastically).

Dean’s shudders start dying down gradually, until he’s relaxed and pliant against Cas. He wraps an arm around Cas’ waist, pulling them even closer. Cas is too sleepy to protest, mostly because that would require that he act like he doesn’t want this. He just has no energy for deception.

So he readjusts his hold, keeps the motions of his fingers steady, and continues to hum softly. He thinks about how this is the first sign that Dean is not as untroubled as he appears to be. The nonsensical notion works into his head, just before slipping back into slumber, that if he can do this for Dean, if he can soothe his nightmares and ease his sleep, maybe Dean will take Cas with him when he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gets my motor running.  
> Dean POV soon, and we're gonna earn that 'explicit' rating, too. *wink*


	3. Chapter Three

Dean wakes up to a faceful of black, wild hair, an armful of skinny teenager (not that he’s too far off from being a skinny teenager himself), and a firm ass pressed against his achingly hard cock.

There are worse ways to wake up.

Dean doesn’t overthink this situation. He pretty much  _ never _ overthinks a situation, but this one in particular is easy. Being with Cas has felt natural and simple from the get go. He’s gorgeous and smart and incredibly attractive and snarky and did Dean mention how  _ hot _ Cas is?

Dean’s always had a soft spot for dark hair and bitchy attitudes, and Cas has both in spades. Not to mention those  _ ridiculous _ blue eyes, not that the word “blue” really describes the color of Cas’ eyes, but it’s as close as Dean can get without a dictionary. Or thesaurus. Or… Whatever.

Dean would be willing to do it, though. He’d be willing to go learn the words he’d need to describe Cas’ eyes, to write stupid, sappy songs about Cas’ sex hair, his truly incredible hands, the flashes of hipbone that Dean saw last night that almost made his heart stop completely. He doesn’t know how, but Cas is under his skin, an itch that could only be scratched by getting closer to him, and not just physically.

The way Cas reacted last night to Dean’s attempt to take care of him broke Dean’s heart a little bit. It’s obvious to Dean that no one has ever tried to look after Cas, and the poor guy just had no fucking clue what to do with it. It pisses Dean off because (and he’s not sure why he feels this way, he just knows that he does, a  _ lot) _ Cas deserves a hell of a lot more than subpar pizza in a shitty motel room. Although Dean could stand to see Cas in Dean’s too big clothes some more, with his pale skin and wide blue eyes and that bony shoulder bared as the stretched out collar of one of Dean’s old Metallica shirts slipped down again…

Speaking of taking care of Cas…

(Dean really does want to pamper Cas properly. He wants to take him to nice restaurants and see him in a good suit and watch him interact with the people in Dean’s world. He wants all of that, not just to fuck Cas into a mattress, listening to that whiskey and thunder voice -which will probably get deeper with age, Dean is almost  _ giddy _ at the thought- screaming his name. It’s just that Dean has always done his best talking with his hands. So, yeah, he wants to give him all of the nice things he suspects he’s never had, but dear  _ God _ does he also want to get his hands on Cas.)

A tiny shift of his hips has his cock slotting neatly between Cas’ cheeks, and Dean can’t help the soft sigh that leaves him. He tucks Cas closer to him, and is delighted to find that one of his hands is pushed up under the other boy’s tee, pressed to his warm, flat belly. The degree of flatness makes a flare of anger fire off deep within Dean, but he pushes it away for now. There will be plenty of time to fatten Cas up, but only one chance to really  _ touch _ him for the first time.

(Dean suspects that this will, in fact, be the first time, implying that there will be many more.)

Dean starts slow. He splays his hand against Cas’ warm skin, then begins to rub his thumb back and forth, slow and soothing. He also nuzzles the dark hair at the nape of Cas’ neck, pressing light kisses there.

He starts to move his hand lower, until two fingers are dipping into the waistband of Cas’ borrowed sweats and boxers (and who’s to know if the thought of Cas in his clothes sends another bolt of possessive heat through him?). He grazes his teeth lightly against the cords in Cas’ neck, right where it meets his shoulder. As he does, he feels Cas start to wake up.

Some instinct guides Dean to tighten his hold on Cas as the other stiffens, fully aware now. Cas is still, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The effect he has on this boy, who was so unbothered by last night’s events, is a heady feeling for Dean. It gives him the confidence boost he needs to take things further.

He lets his lips brush Cas’ ear, relishing the shudder the action gets him. “Shh, baby, I’ve got you.”

If Dean had any questions about Cas wanting this, the way he grinds his ass back onto Dean’s dick would answer them. Dean wants more, though, he wants Cas writhing and desperate and naked.

That’s a bit ambitious for their first time, and for morning sex, no less. So Dean will settle for begging.

“You want this, sweetheart?” Dean croons into Cas’ ear as he moves his hand even lower to run blunt nails lightly through the wiry hair at the base of Cas’ cock. He’s dying to wrap his hand around it and give him the best fucking handjob he’s ever gotten, but Dean needs verbal consent before he goes any further, despite the way Cas hips have started rocking forward in short, aborted little movements, encouraging Dean to  _ move. _

Dean wants enthusiastic verbal consent to go with Cas’...  _ Enthusiastic _ physical consent.

“ _ Dean,” _ Cas whimpers.

Dean smiles, making sure to stay close enough that Cas can feel it. “I need you to say it, baby. Come on, now, I can make you feel so good if you just say it.” His breath is stirring the little tufts of hair around Cas’ ear.

Cas’ breath is heaving, and Dean take a moment to bless whoever encouraged Cas to be so fucking  _ reactive. _ Dean presses closer, eager for Cas, any way he can get him.

_ “Dean,” _ Cas says severely.

Ah, so he’s a bratty sub. Dean is more than all right with that. He slowly removes his hand from Cas’ pants, ignoring the indignant sound he makes, and slides it smoothly up his body until he’s at his chest. He gently thumbs a nipple, and when there’s not much response, he takes it between thumb and forefinger and twists hard enough to cause some pain. Cas makes a sound like he’s dying, but he arches into Dean’s hand, and one of his own hands moves back to grip Dean’s hip, hard.

“All right, you don’t have to say a thing,” Dean says casually as he plucks and pulls at that same nipple, making the boy in his arms squirm. “I’m gonna get mine either way, baby, doesn’t bother me.”

Cas is  _ amazing _ like this. Writhing in Dean’s arms. Dean pulls the arm that’s beneath the pillow out so he can prop himself up on his elbow to see Cas properly.

To his delight, Cas rolls onto his back to glare up at him. Dean grins rakishly, keeping his ministrations. Glaring though he is, Cas is clearly having a hard time keeping even sort of still. “Hi, sweetheart.”

“Shut up and  _ fuck me,” _ Cas growls.

Dean leans down and whispers in Cas’ ear. “Sweetheart, when I do, it’s gonna be in  _ my _ bed, on  _ my _ sheets, and I’m gonna to take you apart for  _ hours, _ until you’re  _ begging _ me to fuck you.”

Cas’ breath has gotten even more ragged, if possible. There are helpless little whimpers escaping his lovely, full lips, his blue eyes wide and begging like the rest of him isn’t willing to do yet.

Dean leans close again, so their lips are just barely brushing. “Wanna kiss you, Cas.”

Cas nods furiously, but Dean stays where he is and cocks an eyebrow. Cas rolls his eyes, but mumbles, “Yes, you may kiss me.” Those crazily blue eyes meet Dean’s eyes again. “Please, Dean,” he whispers, and Dean’s already minimal resolve crumbles.

When he presses his lips to Cas’, it’s like a revelation for Dean. It’s like he’s being burned, seared,  _ branded _ from the inside out. Dean thinks that no one before, and no one after, will ever be doing anything as important as he and Cas, right here, right now.

He licks at the seam of Cas’ lips, and is granted access almost immediately. He takes his time licking his way into Cas’ mouth, tasting him extensively. Cas kisses like it’s going out of style, all teeth and desperation. He seems to remember that he has hands, too, and suddenly reaches up to tangle his elegant fingers into Dean’s hair, holding him close. Dean vaguely realizes that he’s moving on top of Cas. The younger man’s legs spread further to accommodate, and the sight of him, even in the dark and tangled in blankets and sleep pants, makes Dean a little dizzy with want.

He rests his weight on his forearms, bracketing Cas effectively, making it seem like he’s totally wrapped in Dean, surrounded by him. He never lets his lips leave Cas, loving the feeling of that dark stubble (and what the hell kind of high schooler has a five o’clock shadow?) against his own smooth cheek (yeah, yeah, Dean still can’t grow anything but peach fuzz).

For all that Dean is calling the shots, Cas is certainly no blushing virgin. His hips are rolling up into Dean’s, creating really, truly amazing friction that shorts Dean’s brain out. He valiantly rallies his scattered thought processes and takes back control by pressing his own hips down, grinding onto the flatteringly massive erection Cas is sporting, and growling lightly into his mouth.

Cas stills immediately. Dean grins and rewards him with another grind, savoring the gasp that comes from Cas. He nips and kisses his way along the sharp, stubbled jaw until he’s taking Cas’ earlobe into his mouth and worrying it between his teeth. The whining sound Cas is making is making Dean even harder, if that’s possible.

He releases the now reddened flesh to lick hotly along the shell of Cas’ ear. “Think you can come like this, baby?”

Cas whines again, but says nothing. That’s all right, Dean can be patient.

“Cas,” -oh, and  does the way the other boy snaps to attention make Dean’s head swim, god _ damn- _ “say it out loud.” When he’s greeted with more silence, Dean takes a leap. “Cas,” he says again, pitching his voice low in Cas’ ear,  _ “ask _ me to come like this, or you don’t come at all.”

(Now, this is a risk. As much as Cas has made it clear that he’s into someone taking the reigns, the direct order that Dean just gave him might be taking this farther than Cas is willing to go. Some people aren’t into this kind of thing, and Dean normally makes it a point to have a long, detailed talk with a partner before he gets dominant in the bedroom. But he and Cas haven’t done anything the normal way so far, anyway, so Dean is okay with taking the chance.)

A full body shudder wracks through Cas so hard that Dean feels it shake through him, too. Those too-blue-to-be-real eyes flutter shut, and Dean watches with rapt attention as Cas relaxes almost completely.

Then that low, rough voice again. “Please, Dean.  _ Please.” _

(This is why Dean thought the risk was worth it. Cas is so used to being in control, used to  _ having _ to be in control. No one takes care of Cas, no one lets him sit back and relax.

Dean intends to do just that.)

Dean smiles slowly, relishing in the power and trust that the boy (man?) beneath him just placed in him. “Good boy,” he purrs. Cas shivers and whimpers.

Dean starts rolling against Cas again, using one hand on the other’s hip to encourage him to move, too. The switch into being submissive has made Cas just like Dean wanted him, wild and desperate and writhing. It’s intoxicating, addicting, and Dean wants to see more of it, for a long, long time.

It takes very little for them both to be close to the edge. There’s (truly fascinating) sweat gathering at Cas’ temple that Dean noses and nuzzles at while he thrusts down. Normally dry humping is a little high school for him, but just the feel of Cas’ erection pressing against his, even through boxers and sleep pants, is setting to drive him out of his mind with pleasure. Maybe he’s missing out when it comes to dry humping, or maybe it’s just Cas. Dean suspects the latter.

Cas’ keening has taken on a desperate, frantic quality. He’s still moving his hips in time with Dean’s hand, pressing his cock up into the space right at Dean’s hip, driving them both crazy. There’s a build up of pleasure at the base of Dean’s spine, making him shudder and moan a little.

Dean’s been murmuring praise into Cas’ cheek, his hair, his ear, wherever Dean can get to. Words like “so good” and “beautiful” and  _ “mine.” _ He interrupts them now to drop an order.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers roughly. “Come for me, right now.”

The cry that comes from Cas’ throat as he shakes his way through his orgasm, along with wet warmth that Dean could feel even through his own clothes spreading on Cas’ front, sends Dean hurtling over the edge, too. Waves of heat and pleasure are crashing through him, narrowing his world down to the blue-eyed boy in his arms and nothing else.

Dean keeps himself mostly propped up, but lets his forehead drop gently to rest against Cas’, and he lets some of his bodyweight pin him as they slowly come down from the high of orgasm. Even if this wasn’t an intense scene, or really even a scene at all, Dean takes aftercare  _ very _ seriously, and he knows that just the feeling of him on top like this should make Cas feel better.

The way Cas is nuzzling his nose, just a little, and the way his arms snake up to wrap around Dean’s waist, tell Dean that he was right. He smiles and drops a soft kiss to Cas’ lips.

“Stop aftercaring me,” Cas grumps, but doesn’t move away.

“No,” Dean says easily, unperturbed.

_ “Ugh.” _

Dean laughs softly, pressing little kisses smacking kisses randomly across Cas’ face, which he seems to tolerate with an air of irritated forbearance. Dean ends with a long, languid kiss to his lips, during which he decides that he’s kind of in love with Cas’ mouth.

(He’s also kind of in love with other -read: all- parts of Cas, too, but he’s pushing that thought aside. They met a little over twelve hours ago, for fuck’s sake.)

When they come up for air, Dean looks over to the bedside clock to see that it’s around nine in the morning. He looks back down at Cas with a grin. “Breakfast?”

* * *

After Cas (grumpily) agrees to let Dean take him to breakfast, Dean (graciously, and with much internal struggle) gets off of him and lets them clean up. He (also graciously, god dammit) insists that Cas get the first shower again, mostly so Dean himself can get a few minutes to wrap his head around the last few hours of his life.

Cas comes out of the bathroom in the same pair of torn jeans he was wearing last night (and from the looks of it, they’re torn through use, not artfully torn for looks), and another (the last) of Dean’s clean t-shirts, this one Pink Floyd. It’s small on Dean, which means it’s only a little bit baggy on Cas, but it still makes Dean want to drool and follow the other around like a lost puppy, tongue lolling out of his mouth.

He manages to contain himself, but just barely.

Now he’s sitting across from Cas in a booth in a shitty diner, and the way the sunrise is making Cas’ crazy sex hair shine is way too fucking distracting to be normal. Dean tries to keep his focus on Cas’ face, on the bruise that still looks livid and awful, to keep himself focused.

Cas is looking down at the menu, chewing on his still-swollen lip. Dean tries like hell to keep his mind out of the gutter, because no matter how much he wants to bend Cas over this table and fuck him silly, that would be wrong and hot and unacceptable and so very, very tempting…

Cas’ eyes meeting his knocks him out of his reverie, and Dean blinks a few times. “Huh?”

Cas heaves a put-upon sigh. “I asked what the price limit is.”

Dean frowns. “Price limit?”

“For what I can order?”

Dean’s frown remains unchanged. “Cas, there’s no ‘limit.’ Get whatever you want.”

As Cas stares suspiciously at him, it sinks in, again, for Dean that no one has ever done this for Cas. Cas is used to scrimping by, taking care of himself, making himself small and unobtrusive so that no one will think he’s being an inconvenience, because inconveniences get hit. Dean remembers that, where Cas comes from, there’s probably a “price limit” on everything.

And doesn’t that just piss Dean right the fuck off again?

He leans over and covers one of Cas’ hands with his own. Cas’ eyes shoot down to the spot where they’re touching, but Dean doesn’t let that deter him.

“Cas,” he says, low and vehement, and blue eyes meet his again, more trepidation and less suspicion now. “Listen, I don’t know what’s up with the fuckheads you were with before, but when you’re with me, you eat, okay? As much as you want. Don’t worry about money, I got money. I just want you to… Be okay.” He ends lamely, because “I just want you to be happy” sounds like something you say to someone who you’ve known for more than twelve hours, and seriously, Dean is starting to get pretty pissy that he’s only known for Cas that long. Someone should have been around to protect Cas long before this.

Cas is staring at him, disbelief evident on his face. “I…”

Dean shakes his head. “No arguments, sweetheart. I know that wherever you were wasn’t a good place, but you’re with me now, okay? Now, I ain’t the best, but I’m gonna take care of you.”

(Dean doesn’t realize that he’s slipped up and started speaking like Cas is going to stay with him forever.)

“Dean,” Cas says softly, some hard to identify emotion in his eyes, “Don’t.”

Dean frowns. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend like we’re staying… Together, or whatever. I’m still your hostage.”

(Well, he certainly realizes it now.)

And doesn’t  _ that _ hit Dean’s chest like a block of ice, soaking into his skin and making him cold all over? There’s suddenly not enough air in this stupid diner, and there’s nothing in Dean’s brain but  _ please stay with me please stay with me please stay with me. _

(Dean doesn’t do chick flick moments, typically, but it doesn’t mean he  _ can’t. _ His father may be a stereotypical man’s man, but Mary Winchester, god rest her soul, was a strong feminist who taught her children to express their emotions and be all right with them. So, as much as Dean sometimes has to fight his father’s voice in his head telling him that only pansies talk about feelings, he’s usually pretty all right with himself, although he shudders to think what would have happened if Mary hadn’t been around until a couple of years ago.

The point is this: Dean Winchester does not do chick flick moments, usually.

Then again, he and Cas haven’t done “usual” yet, and Dean doesn’t intend to start now.)

“What if you weren’t?”

Cas’ eyes get wider. “What if I… What?”

Dean shrugs, though he feels the tips of his ears redden. They’re interrupted by the waitress, Amy, coming to take their drink orders. Dean orders coffee, and when Cas tries to get water, Dean stares him down until he relents and orders tea. The waitress smiles and walks away, and Dean turns back to Cas.

“What if you weren’t my hostage?”

“I mean, I… Dean, I…”

“I mean it,” Dean says firmly. “If I told you that you’re welcome to leave, I’ll give you a bus ticket to go, and you can go back to your life, wherever that may be,  _ or _ you can stay with me, and I’ll take you away from this shithole, what would you say?”

Cas’ face darkens. “I do not need rescuing, Dean.”

“I didn’t say you did,” he counters. “I want to… I dunno, babe, I just want to take care of you. Whatever that means. If that means you go home and I never see you again, fine.” For this part, he makes sure to meet Cas’ eyes, and tries to project his sincerity through his own. “But I really, really hope it means you let me actually take care of you for a while, because I really,  _ really _ want to.”

They stare at each other for a few minutes, and Dean patiently lets Cas roll the idea around in his pretty head. It’s a lot to take in, they’ve known each other for such a short time, but Dean’s not stupid, or blind. He knows he’s already well on his way to being in love with Cas, and maybe it’s because they’re both young and attractive (what? Dean owns mirrors), but Dean thinks maybe it’s something else. He thinks of that chick writer his mom liked, who writes long-winded and really dark stories.

_ “Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same.” _

So yeah, Dean knows that Cas feels the same connection. It really just comes down to if Cas will trust Dean enough to dive headfirst (heartfirst?) into the feeling, or if he won’t be able to bring himself to.

“I don’t understand,” Cas says softly.

Dean shrugs and decides that honesty is his best bet here. “I don’t, either, sweetheart. I just know that I want you around. The thought of taking you back home… Kinda makes my stomach hurt.”

(That’s very true.)

They’re interrupted again by Amy. Dean orders his usual (“Can I get eggs, scrambled, raisin toast, bacon, extra side of sausage, and more coffee, Amy? Thanks, you’re a doll.”), and then there’s another stare-off when Cas tries to order dry toast. Dean glares him into submission, and Cas gives in with a heavy sigh (“May I have blueberry pancakes, please?” “Add a side of bacon to his, too, Amy, if you would.”  _ “Dean.” “Cas.”). _ Amy dimples at them, calls them “cute,” and walks away with their order.

Dean grins. “Ha! She thinks we’re cute.”

“Is it because of this?” Cas is gesturing to the bruise on his cheek, subtly enough to not draw too much attention to it, but clear enough that Dean catches his meaning.

“Does she think we’re cute because you got punched in the face?”

Cas glares at him.  _ “No. _ Do you…” He swallows and looks down. “Do you want to take care of me because I’m… Because my mother is unpleasant?”

Sympathy swells in Dean’s chest.  _ God, he can’t even say the word “abused.” _ He leans forward and cups Cas’ chin, tilting his face up until they’re staring into one another’s eyes again. “Cas,  _ no. _ No, it’s not because I want to save you, although I do. It’s not because you need saving, although I think that a little bit of saving would do you some good. I just…” He rubs his thumb gently along Cas’ cheekbone, careful because of the bruise, and feels his heart beat harder when Cas’ eyes flutter shut and he leans into the touch. “I just kinda want to keep you around, Cas.”

Cas opens his eyes again, but lets his face stay tilted into Dean’s hand. “I don’t understand,” he whispers again.

“I don’t either. Let’s figure it out together, yeah?”

* * *

Cas stares across the shoddy diner booth to Dean, who’s looking at him with those damnable green eyes, affection and honesty shining in them.  _ Damn it. _

“Y’all ready to eat?”

Cas doesn’t know whether to slap Amy or kiss her full on the mouth for interrupting, so he stays quiet while Dean turns his thousand watt smile on her and agrees. She puts the food on the table  _ (Jesus Christ so much food) _ and sashays away.

He looks back at Dean, who’s still considering him carefully. Dean grins when their eyes meet. “You don’t have to decide now, sweetheart,” he says cheerfully (and when did the pet names stop being annoying, exactly?). “Let’s just eat, okay?”

Cas bites his lip and nods. “Okay.”

As they eat, Dean fills the silence with idle chatter about inane topics that Cas barely pays attention to. He’s all right with that, and he suspects that Dean will be, too.

It’s just that… What is Dean  _ doing? _ It’s not that Cas has such bad self-worth that he doesn’t see his own appeal-

(This is not true.)

-it’s just that for fuck’s sake, they  _ just met, _ and besides that, Dean is handsome and funny and caring and smart. What does he want with Cas? He’s too kind for this to be some kind of game, so what is he doing?

It’s just that… Cas isn’t just from a broken family, he’s from a shattered, venomous life that crumbled apart as soon as he hit double digits. Cas can barely be around other people without offending them or driving them off, much less be in a… What, a romantic relationship with Dean? Dean would stick around for a few days, then leave Cas in the dust.

Cas looks up, intending to tell Dean to take him home, and the words get stuck in his throat.

Dean is making faces at a child across the restaurant to make her laugh. The little girl has turned around in her high chair, her blonde pigtails shaking and bouncing as she giggles at Dean’s antics. Even with his face warped to delight her, Cas thinks Dean is beautiful, his striking green eyes and high cheekbones and incredibly talented mouth and oh, oh no, Cas is  _ so _ fucked.

Dean looks back at him, and his smile slowly fades off of his face. “Cas?” He asks gently. “Cas, baby, are you okay?”

“I’ll go with you,” Cas’ mouth says, without his express permission.

Dean’s smile is like the sun coming up, and Castiel is lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gets my motor running.  
> This is my first foray into M/M smut, so be gentle.  
> Just another chapter, I think, then an epilogue.


	4. Chapter Four

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever you want, sweetheart.”

(Dean knows that the fact that he’s a little bit in love with the little frown that Cas gets on his face when Dean’s being annoying isn’t a good thing. He can’t help it, he’s a naturally trying person to be around.)

* * *

They’ve been on the road for just a couple of hours, and they’ve learned a lot about each other.

Dean has learned that, while Cas isn’t used to having a full meal in front of him, Cas can fucking _eat._ He ate all of the pancakes from the diner, as well as half of Dean’s toast, and another order of toast that Dean forced on him to defend his own. It was simultaneously a little disturbing and weirdly hot.

Cas has learned that Dean’s habit of shamelessly flirting with waitresses can be quelled with a blue-eyed glare and a well-placed foot running up and down his calf. Dean shut right the hell up after that.

Dean has learned that Cas is one of _those_ people, who is willing to put his feet up on the dashboard, which will _not abide._

Cas has learned that Dean is more meticulous about Baby than he originally presented himself to be.

(Not everything that Dean learns about Cas is good or innocent, however.

Dean has learned that Cas is a little bit touch-starved, but is too stubborn or prideful to ask for Dean. So Dean does it himself, presenting it like he’s the one who wants it, and consistently holds Cas’ hand, or keeps his own hand on Cas’ thigh.

Dean has learned not to move too quickly, lest Cas flinch or jerk away. Dean has had to stifle more anger in the last few hours than he has his whole fucking life, because he doesn’t want Cas to think he’s mad at _him,_ and he knows that the nature of abuse means that Cas will think just that.)

* * *

So he keeps his hold on Cas’ hand, even as the other boy rolls his eyes and tugs it in a half-hearted attempt to break the contact. “You’re insufferable.”

Dean grins rakishly. “Yep.”

(Dean hasn’t learned everything about Cas. He doesn’t know Cas’ full name, he doesn’t know what classes Cas liked in school, if any, and he doesn’t know if Cas wants a dog or a cat or neither.

What he _does_ know is that Cas is fierce, in every sense of the word. That Cas is prideful, but willing to overcome it. That Cas is scared, but is holding onto Dean’s hand just as hard as Dean is holding onto his.

Maybe that’s all he needs to know for now.)

Cas looks forward again, a hint of a smile pulling the corner of his mouth up. Dean stares at him as much as he can while still driving safely.

The late morning sunshine is shining on Cas’ face, throwing those killer cheekbones into sharp relief. Dean can’t believe how incredibly beautiful he thinks Cas is in the passenger seat right now, and how damn lucky he is to have him there.

“Watch the road, Dean.”

Dean grins.

* * *

A few hours later, Cas makes a face, and since Dean is (still) irresponsibly watching his companion instead of the road, he catches it. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” said just a bit too quickly to be true.

“Cas.”

“Dean,” Cas returns, mocking.

Dean sighs. “Tell me.”

“... No.”

“Please?” Dean can’t pull puppy dog eyes off like Sammy can, but he does his level best when he looks at Cas.

Cas just glares for a moment, chewing on his lip. Dean’s distracted enough by that to not say anything for a few moments, thinking about what else he can put those lips and that tongue to use for, which is apparently just enough time for Cas to decide to spill.

“I… You know I don’t have anything, correct?”

Since Dean’s mind was _already_ in the gutter… “Like, STD’s?”

Cas’ eyes widen, then narrow in another glare. _“No,_ not STD’s, for fuck’s sake.”

“Then what?”

“I mean _clothes,_ Dean. Or _anything.”_ Cas looks back through the windshield and runs his free hand through his hair. “I just... Maybe… This wasn’t a good idea.”

Dean’s natural leaning toward self-loathing wants to tell him that this is about him, that Cas can already see that Dean isn’t worth running away from home for or leaving behind his life for and-

 _No, that’s not it._ In a (rare) moment of insight into another person, Dean knows exactly what this is about.

They’re driving on a fairly desolate stretch of highway, so pulling over onto the shoulder is no problem at all. Dean does so silently, then puts Baby in park. He turns to Cas to cup the other boy’s face and tilts his head down until blue eyes meet his own.

“Hey,” he says gently, smiling. “I’m not going to regret this. I’m not going to leave you behind, or take you back, not unless you want me to, okay?” He grins. “I knew what I was getting into, kidnapping a high schooler I found in a park.”

The word “kidnapping” gets the desired effect of an eye-roll. “You’re ridiculous.”

Dean tilts forward until their mouths are almost, _almost_ touching. “You like it.”

“Yes, I do,” Cas sighs, just before leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

* * *

After spending an inordinate amount of time making out _(“Dean, we’re not fucking in the middle of the day on the shoulder of a road.” “But Ca-as!”)_ Cas agrees to let Dean take him to Target to get him, “Just the essentials, Cas, I swear, scout’s honor.”

“I have a heavy suspicion that you were not a boy scout.”

Dean just grins again.

* * *

When they get to Target, though, Dean starts getting a little nervous.

Not about Cas himself, never, but Baby isn’t the _most_ inconspicuous that ever was, and God knows Cas is noticeable. Dean would notice Cas from a mile away. The only reason he wasn’t _immediately_ all over everything about Cas was because of the situation. Impending abduction usually puts a damper on relationship prospects.

 _Not for Cas and me, though,_ he thinks fondly.

Cas moves with the confidence of someone who can take care of himself as they walk into the store and grab a shopping cart. It’s unbearably hot, but it’s also drawing attention, which is bad for so many reasons. The first is that Cas is probably officially a missing person by now, and attention of any kind is bad. The second reason is because while Dean has not been a jealous man in the past, all of these assessing (read: approving) eyes scanning _his_ Cas from head to toe are driving him _insane._ The urge to put (good, loving, tender, _huge)_ marks on Cas, to put a visible claim on him, is driving Dean to distraction.

He has to spend a few minutes convincing Cas _again_ that money isn’t a concern. (It’s not that Dean’s made of the stuff or anything, but his uncle Bobby taught him, before the Singer-Harvelle and Winchester clans had a falling out, to always keep getaway money in his car. Baby had a cool ten grand hidden beneath the false trunk when he left yesterday morning, and a couple of meals and a hotel room have barely put a dent in it.) Dean isn’t about to tell Cas all of this in a public place (not that he doesn’t trust Cas, he doesn’t trust all of these _other people,_ he’ll tell Cas as soon as they get back into the car, he just keeps getting lost in those _goddamn blue eyes),_ but he does eventually get the other boy to start shopping and stop arguing.

Dean is… Inordinately pleased by the way Cas shops. He’s choosing what Dean would choose for him, and after the _third_ time that Dean chastises him for looking at price tags, he has good, expensive taste. It’s just a few pairs of jeans, a couple of t-shirts, and several henleys (Dean is going to fuck him in one of those, sweet _Jesus),_ but they’re all good quality. Dean also insists on a dark blue button-down they find, because it brings out Cas’ eyes, and a ridiculous trench coat they find, because for some reason it just _screams_ Cas to him. Cas doesn’t argue about either.

Before they leave, Dean swings by the jewelry section for sunglasses. He buys a dark pair of aviators, and is idly wondering if he can convince Cas to let him fuck him in those, too, when Cas speaks hesitantly.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” Dean leads them through the hats. It’s gonna be a damn crime to cover up Cas’ insane sex hair, but Dean _kidnapped_ the guy, so one can never be too careful.

“What are you doing?”

Dean finally looks over at Cas, who’s got his head tilted like a bird as he studies Dean, who will admit to his dying day that the sight does _not_ make his heart stutter in his chest.

“We, uh… _Oh._ We gotta get some stuff to hide you, babe.” Dean winks. “You’re a fugitive now that you’re with me.”

Cas frowns. “I haven’t committed any crimes.”

“No, but you’ve probably been reported as a missing person, Cas.”

An indescribably sad look passes over Cas’ face. “Dean…”

Dean immediately abandons the cart and moves to Cas, pulling him into a fierce embrace. He threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Cas’ neck and presses his lips lightly to his ear. “Whatever stupid thing I just said, I’m sorry,” he whispers.

(This is not Dean’s first rodeo with being an insensitive prick, accidental though it may be. He’s working on it. He may not know _what_ he said wrong, but he does know that he said something, and he’s willing to learn the pitfalls of Cas’ psyche to avoid shtit like this.)

Cas’ arms come up around his waist (a beat too slow, still, but he’ll get the hang of hugs if it fucking _kills_ Dean), and presses his face into Dean’s shoulder, just a bit. Just enough to let Dean know that he’s hurting, but subtly enough that no one else would probably notice.

“We don’t need to do this,” Cas says softly.

“Buy you clothes?”

“Get a disguise.”

Dean stays quiet, not sure how to respond.

Cas sighs and holds on just a bit tighter. “Dean… No one’s looking for me.”

Pain lances through Dean’s heart, and he closes his eyes and crushes Cas to him tighter. “Oh, sweetheart.”

Cas shrugs as much as he can in Dean’s arms, but Dean’s not stupid. He doesn’t know how bad it would hurt if there was no one to look for him, because even if he and John _are_ currently on the outs, Dean knows without a doubt that his father would tear this whole damn state apart to find him. John Winchester would tear the _world_ apart for his sons.

So he holds Cas close and whispers again in his ear. “I’ll _always_ be looking for you, Cas. _Always.”_

Cas shudders in his arms, and Dean holds him for a long time before they’re ready to go.

* * *

Cas is quiet until they get back to the motel. Dean doesn’t try to fill the silence, mostly because he has no idea what to say. He gets the feeling that Cas still thinks that this might be a temporary thing for Dean, and Dean doesn’t know how to explain that it’s _not._

(If Dean had the ability to string words together like he wishes he did, he would tell Cas that Dean’s search for _whatever_ he’s been searching for, with his irresponsible decisions and spontaneous bar fights and one night stands, it’s _over._ He just wants Cas, in whatever way he can get him, for as long as he can have him. It doesn’t make sense, and it’s scary and intense and brand new, but he feels it from the bottom of his heart, with every breath he takes, sitting next to the dark-haired boy who has totally rocked his world in less than a day.)

He’s still trying to find the words when Cas sits on the bed and looks up at him.

“I suppose… You want to hear about my family?”

The thing is, Dean _does._ Dean is hungry for any information he can get about Cas. He wants to know what Cas’ favorite color is, what his childhood dreams were, what his relationship with each and _every_ family member is, no matter how bad. All of the shit Dean has never cared about with his other partners (he was really just interested in hard limits and safewords), Dean wants to know about Cas. He _needs_ to know it.

Cas just looks so _lost,_ though. He looks young, young enough to be the teenager Dean knows he is for the first time since last night, when he was in Dean’s clothes and confused at the thought of being taken care of.

Dean hates the look on his face.

Lucky for him, Dean knows how to get rid of it.

He steps forward, nudging Cas’ knees apart until he can stand between them. He raises his hand and sinks his fingers into that dark, crazy hair. “Sometime soon, baby. Not right now, okay?”

Cas just nods, his big blue eyes wide, and swallows hard. Dean’s captivated by the movement of his pale throat for a moment before he looks back into Cas’ eyes.

He lets a slow, smoldering smirk spread across his face, and cocks an eyebrow (yeah, yeah, sue him, Dean knows what he looks like, and he’s willing to use that and any other tool at his disposal to make Cas forget, just for a few moments, about the shitty things in his life).

“What do you say we make good use of this bed, baby?”

Cas’ eyes darken, and he just nods silently again.

Dean smiles. “Good boy.” He savors the way Cas’ eyes slip half-closed and he gives a full-body shudder.

“Lay back.”

Cas does so immediately, and Dean smiles at the obedience that has his dick twitching and swelling in his pants. “What’s your safeword, sweetheart?”

“Purgatory,” Cas supplies immediately, and Dean cocks an eyebrow again. Cas shrugs and smiles coyly. “I’ve done this before, Dean. You can’t have thought you were my first dom.”

Dean surges down in a controlled fall until he’s nose to nose with Cas. Cas gasps, but Dean ignores it to stare into his eyes.

“First of all, I think that pretty mouth would be better suited to calling me ‘sir,’ don’t you, sweetheart?”

Cas swallows hard again, and as much as Dean wants to watch that play of muscle and tendon beneath vulnerable skin, he’s in goddamn _character,_ so he keeps the eye contact.

“Yes, sir,” Cas says, low and hot and so close that Dean can feel his hot breath on his mouth.

“Good boy.” Another shudder from Cas, and Dean lets himself get a wolfish grin on his face. “Second of all,” he moves until he’s whispering in Cas’ ear, because don’t think he didn’t notice how it affected him this morning, “I’m going to make you forget that anyone but me has ever touched you.”

 _“Please,”_ Cas whimpers. “Please, sir.”

Dean moves his knees up to straddle Cas’ hips, and is just sitting back up when the door of the motel room bursts in and a short, blonde man is pointing a gun at Dean’s face.

“Gonna need you to get off my baby bro, jackass.”

* * *

_“Gabriel?”_

Cas is in shock. He tries, nonsensically, to remember when the last time he saw Gabe was for a moment before he looks back up at Dean.

 _Dean,_ who is not doing anything to get the raging erection that Cas has going on right now to go away.

Because Dean has produced a gun (did he have that when they went into _Target?_ Who has gun when they go into _Target?)_ and is pointing it back at Gabriel. His handsome face is set in stone, his green eyes glittering in malice, and Cas realizes that Dean is _livid,_ because he’s protecting Castiel.

That, more than anything, proves to Cas that Dean means all of the things he says.

(Maybe it’s a little bit fucked up, but Cas has grown up with violence. Violence in growing up with two brothers, because no matter the age gap, boys will beat the ever loving shit out of each other. Violence in growing up with an abusive mother, but since she beat the shit out of him no matter what, it was harder to understand. Violence in fighting with other kids his age, because none of them knew what they were doing, and if they couldn’t fuck someone, they were going to fight them.

So yes, Castiel is fluent in the language of violence, in the way a body speaks when it goes into a fighting stance. Dean’s body is telling him, emphatically and in great detail, that he is here to protect Cas. It’s in the way that he’s crouching over Cas, the way he hasn’t moved to a more advantageous stance in favor of staying close to Castiel.

It’s incredibly sweet. And unbearably hot.)

“Cas, do you know this guy?” Dean asks darkly.

“This is…”

Cas would finish the sentence, but before he can, another blonde man walks in behind Gabriel, also sporting a pistol.

He’s… Gained quite a bit of muscle since Cas last saw him. He’s less pale, too, and more present, somehow. _Must have kicked that drug habit,_ Cas thinks, half-hysterically.

“Hello, Lucifer.”

* * *

They end up standing on either side of the room, Cas and Dean on one side, Lucifer and Gabriel on the other. At Cas’ insistence, the guns are put away, because it would be just his luck that either one of his long-lost brothers or his… Whatever Dean is _(strangerkidnapperfriendloverdomboyfriendloveofmylife)_ would get shot the first time he has all of them.

Cas decides to get right to the point. “What are you _doing_ here?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Mom called. Said you were gone.”

 _“Naomi_ called you?!”

Lucifer frowns. “Since when do you call our mother by her first name?”

“Since she started beating the shit out of me on a daily basis,” Cas says coldly.

Lucifer’s eyebrows go up, and Gabe rolls his eyes. “She’s not that bad, Cassie.”

Cas immediately puts an arm out to stop Dean, because he knew before Dean did that he was going to step forward and growl a little. “You motherfucker,” Dean snarls.

“Dean, please,” Cas says softly before turning back to his brothers. “She got significantly worse when you two left.” He gestures to his face. “This is from her,” he lifts his t-shirt, too, “as are these.”

Three sets of breath suck in harshly, but Dean’s is the harshest. Cas knows what they’re seeing. Yellowing bruises up and down his ribcage, with some rather spectacular ones just fading from purple to the greenish yellow of a slowly healing injury on his side, down near his hips.

“God dammit, Cas,” Dean whispers, sounding furious and broken all at the same time. “I could have _hurt_ you.”

“But you didn’t,” Cas protests softly, watching every expression fying across Dean’s face. “I would have told you before we did anything… Strenuous.”

His attempt at levity falls flat, because Dean still looks heartbroken.

 _“Castiel,”_ Lucifer’s stern voice turns his attention back towards his brothers, who both look equally crestfallen. “What _happened?”_

“It doesn’t matter,” Cas says, automatic.

“It really, _really_ does,” Gabe says darkly, and Cas is surprised. Gabriel takes so few things seriously, seeing him actually angry… Cas could see how it would be intimidating, if one wasn’t his younger brother.

Cas shrugs and lets his shirt drop. “Naomi has a lot of anger in her, and her favorite way to express it is… This.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Lucifer demands.

Cas blinks. “You were _gone,_ Luke. You left.”

Lucifer looks torn. “I would have come _back_ for you, Castiel.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Cas snaps.

“Cassie, what Luci and I do, it was no life for a kid,” Gabe says, a little desperately. “We were trying to save you.”

Dean snorts a little. “Bang-up job.”

“Stay out of this,” Lucifer snarls.

“Do not speak to him,” Cas says hotly. “You _abandoned_ me, and Dean…” Cas actually doesn’t know what to say here. He looks at Dean.

Who’s already looking at him with soft eyes. “I’m with you, Cas. Hundred percent, baby.”

Deep in Cas’ chest, he warms, something that’s been cold for a long, long time. He doesn’t have time to tell (or show, possibly with his mouth) Dean how much that means to him, so he slides a hand down to slip it into Dean’s, interlacing their fingers hard. Dean holds on back.

“So, what,” Gabriel says derisively, “You hang out with a _Winchester?”_

“Dean has never laid a hand on me, and has done more for me in the last day than the two of you have since I was ten years old.”

 _“Hey!”_ Gabe protests.

Lucifer stays silent, however, and he looks at Dean and Castiel for an almost unbearably long moment. Cas meets his gaze head on and squeezes Dean’s hand when he senses that he would speak. This is what Lucifer does. He’s actually extremely intelligent, thoughts going a mile a minute, but he’s assessing everything, the micro expressions on their faces, the way their hands are clasped, the way they’re standing next to one another.

Suddenly, Lucifer’s face softens, and Cas is no longer looking at a hardened criminal, but at his big brother. He feels his eyes get misty despite himself.

“Hello, little brother,” Lucifer says gently, finally returning Cas’ greeting.

“Hello, Luke.” Cas can’t help the smile on his face.

Gabriel throws his hands in the air in exasperation. “Just like that? We’re all okay, just like that?”

(Castiel and Lucifer have always had a connection stronger than that between he and Gabe. There’s no good reason, they’re not any more similar to one another than either is to the middle Novak brother. They’ve just always had a profound bond, and have always understood one another without words.)

Luke nods. “Just like that.”

* * *

Once Cas’ _(Castiel fucking Novak Jesus fucking Christ)_ brothers go get their own room at the motel, deciding to stay close so they can reconnect with their youngest sibling, Dean flops back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I cannot _believe_ you didn’t tell me that you’re Lucifer and Gabriel Novak’s little brother.”

Cas is somewhat more sedate when he joins Dean on the bed. He rests his head on Dean’s chest, and Dean finds himself automatically reaching up to thread his fingers through the dark hair he likes _(loves)_ so much. “In my defense,” the boy on his chest deadpans, “you never asked.”

Dean snorts and presses a kiss to Cas’ hair. “You did not just ‘you never asked’ me.”

“I have few regrets.”

Dean lets the silence be for a while, just savoring each place that he and Cas are pressed together. He can feel his soul being filled up with this moment, as domestic and tame as it is. Who knew that Dean Winchester would fall in love so hard with cuddling _(with Cas)_ outside of the bedroom _(anywhere at all)?_

After a while, during which they both doze a bit, Cas starts to speak.

“My father left shortly after I was born, so I didn’t know him. I don’t know for certain that he’s my biological father, anyway. There are a vast number of physical differences in mine and my brother’s appearances.”

(Dean did notice the differences himself, but he wasn’t gonna _say_ anything, God.)

“Regardless, it was just Naomi raising the three of us. Lucifer was apparently relatively well-behaved until our father left, but became… Rebellious, after. I don’t know what he was looking for when he joined Azazel’s gang, but he found it for a while.”

Surprise splashes through Dean at Azazel’s name, but he remains still and quiet. _My family history later,_ he tells himself.

“He never told me all of the things he did for Azazel, but I know that they were… Unpleasant, and that Luke rose in the ranks quickly before Azazel fucked up.” at Dean’s questioning noise, “I believe he expressed a wish to recruit Gabriel and myself into the ‘family.’”

Dean’s arm tightens involuntarily around Cas. He knows Azazel’s gang, and before they dissolved in the wake of Azazel himself’s death, they were _nasty._ Bad enough to make the Winchesters look like kittens. _They’ll get Cas over my dead body,_ he thinks darkly before remembering that they’re not actually a threat anymore.

Speaking of… “Did Lucifer…”

“Kill Azazel?” Cas says it rather casually. “Oh, I believe so. There are… Few things that Lucifer holds dear, and family is one of them. Azazel wouldn’t have stopped until he had what he wanted, and Luke wasn’t going to let that happen.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen.”

“Huh.”

“After that, I have no idea what he did, but he wasn’t at home. Very quickly after Gabe turned… Fifteen? Sixteen, possibly? He started running cons and being gone ore, and soon he was never there.

“I think that Naomi blames me. Maybe for the fact that my father was the reason for the dissolution of her marriage, that he left after I was born, or that my birth happened at the same time that Luke’s rebellion began, but she _does_ have a lot of anger, and I think that most of it is aimed at me.”

Dean scowls. “Well, fuck her.”

Cas chuckles. “Indeed.”

Dean looks down and hooks a finger under Cas’ chin to tilt his face up. “Hey, I’m serious. I know I already said it, but you’re _never_ going back there. I’m never going to let anyone hurt you again, okay?”

Cas smiles and rolls his eyes a little. “Yes, Dean, I heard you.” Through the sarcasm, though, there’s just a bit of gratitude and affection, so Dean will take it. He settles back down and resumes carding his fingers through Cas’ hair.

After another long time, “Tell me about the Winchesters.”

So he does.

He tells him about his beautiful mother, and how she would sing to him when he was sick. He tells him how soft her hair was, and her skin. How kind she was, always checking on them, always telling Dean that it was okay to be who he was. When Dean figured out that he’s bi, Mary didn’t bat an eye, and when he expressed his worry that John would be mad, she kissed him gently on the forehead and told him not to concern himself with it.

Dean tells Cas about John Winchester. About how hard John has always seemed to be, but how he always makes time for Dean or Sam. Even while they were fighting (and oh, _Jesus_ did they fight), John has always been there for Dean and Sam.

He tells him about Sam the most. About how fucking _smart_ Sam has always been (“You cannot _imagine_ how annoying it is, Cas. Have you ever had to watch a four-year-old who will _not stop asking questions?”)._ He talks about how disgusted Sam was when he found out what their family does, and how he’s never wanted anything to do with it.

He talks about how badly Azazel wanted Sam. How hard he worked to corrupt the youngest Winchester, going as far as to send a _spy_ (“And lemme tell you, Cas, this Ruby chick was a _bitch.”)._ How, as soon as Mary found out, it only took a well placed word or two to John before he was gone for a few days. Ruby was gone after that, and Azazel didn’t come sniffing around again.

He tells him how conflicted he was when Sam told him that he got into Stanford, that he wanted to be a lawyer. (“I mean, I couldn’t be prouder of him, I mean it, Cas, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything for him. It’s just... I dunno. It kind of feels like he’s leaving me in the trenches. ‘Specially after Mom died, it’s just been me and Sammy. Kinda feels like I’m being abandoned.”)

Dean can’t really remember the last time he spoke so much. He falls silent after his last admission, but it’s not uncomfortable. He keeps his fingers moving through Cas’ hair, and smiles when Cas nuzzles closer. He feels… Peaceful. He’s never said that thing about Sam outside of his own head, always worried that he’ll come off as needy and childish. With Cas, though, somehow he knows he’s safe, that Cas won’t see him differently. Cas is just Cas, and he just sees Dean as… Dean.

He snorts. “Can’t believe you’re brothers with Lucifer and Gabriel Novak.” He looks down at the boy on his chest. “What’s with the names? _Lucifer? Castiel?”_

Cas shrugs. “They’re the names of angels.”

Dean grins. “That so, angel?”

Cas rolls his eyes. _“Ugh.”_

Dean laughs and presses a kiss to dark hair. “Can’t believe I shacked up with a Novak.”

“That’s a little presumptuous. You haven’t shacked up with anyone yet.”

Dean grins again. “That’s true.” He hauls Cas up until he’s fully on top of him and they’re eye to eye. “I think I’m slacking, angel.”

Cas rolls his eyes again at the pet name, but deals with the manhandling without comment. “How so?”

Dean leans up to press his lips to Cas’ ear. “I promised you a bed, didn’t I?”

He feels his grin turn predatory when Cas whimpers a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gets my motor running.  
> Smut next chapter, I swear.


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Read the new tags, people, because this fic gets a lot fucking filthier this chapter.

Though it’s getting to be late afternoon, after the confrontation with the other two Novak brothers, they both decide that they don’t want to stay there anymore. Dean packs them up while Cas texts Lucifer and Gabriel, and they’re on the road an hour after the strange reunion.

* * *

When Dean pulls up to the house he says is his later that evening and digs the garage door opener out of the glove compartment, Cas tries hard not to feel intimidated.

It’s not that the house is overly ostentatious, because it’s not. It’s nice, but in the way that the houses a few blocks from Cas’ own are nice. There isn’t extensive landscaping or topiary or muted but carefully selected color schemes, but it’s obvious that the person who lives here cares about the house. The grass is a little long, but it’s thick and green. The garage that’s revealed as the big door rolls up is clean and tidy. Tools that Cas has no name for line the walls, clearly organized.

It’s domestic. It’s nice as hell. It is also the reason he’s fighting the overwhelming urge to throw up.

Dean pulls the Impala into the garage, still chattering on about the house and the improvements he’s made to it. Cas tries to listen, he really does, but he’s still trying to figure out a way to breathe through the dull ache in his chest that the  _ domesticity _ leaves there.

Dean hits the button again to close the garage door behind them, tucks the little remote back into the glove compartment, then turns to smile at Cas. “Ready to…” His smile fades quickly, and he reaches forward to cup Cas’ face with his big hand, his thumb running along his cheekbone. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Cas gasps, hating himself for how reedy and thin his voice is despite its natural growl. “I’m okay, this is nothing, it’s-“

“Cas,” Dean says fondly, “shut up.”

Dean turns away and opens the door to the Impala, and Cas feels cold and empty without him.  _ Why am I here? What could he possibly want with me? God, I’m nothing, I’m just some kid he found and wants to bone, why am I here, he doesn’t- _

After  _ forever _ passes, Cas dimly feels his own door being opened, then hands are on his legs, swinging him around so he’s facing out of the car, facing Dean, who’s kneeling on the garage floor in front of him. Dean wraps one hand around the back of Cas’ neck, grounding him, and those green eyes look into his own fiercely.

“Castiel,” Dean says, low and sincere, “I want you here. I want you to be here with me. Not because of what you can give me, or what you can do for me, just because you’re  _ you. _ Okay?”

“Dean,” Cas pleads, “what the hell am I going to do here?”

“Whatever you want,” Dean responds immediately. “You could learn the business.”

Cas frowns. “The… Business? Like the mob?”

Dean chuckles. “Not like,  _ the _ mob, but  _ a _ mob, yeah. The family business.”

Cas doesn’t smile back, he can’t yet. “Dean, I don’t know…”

Dean stands, tugs Cas until he’s standing, too, and wraps his arms around him. Cas lets his forehead drop to Dean’s shoulder and returns the embrace.

Dean turns until his lips are pressed to Cas’ ear. “You wanna stay here with me, Cas?” he murmurs. Cas just nods silently. “Okay, then. We’ll make it work, I promise.”

“Simple as that?”

“Simple as that, sweetheart. You and me, we’re solid, Cas. Nothin’ you can do about it now.”

Cas finally smiles. “Okay, Dean.”

Dean tightens his hold. “Good. Now, come let me give you the tour, then we’ll eat.”

* * *

 

Even though Cas is  _ thoroughly _ embarrassed, Dean insists on leading him by the hand through the house. The whole place is lovely, all dark woods and light colored walls. Dean talks about the renovations he’s done so far, and the other things he wants to do. Even if it is because Dean’s part of a crime family, Cas can’t help but marvel at how much Dean’s accomplished in his young life.

Cas tries to linger at the master bedroom, with it’s huge king sized bed and opulent black sheets, but Dean tells him in no uncertain terms that, “There will be no ravishing until we’ve got food in our stomachs, babe.”

(Cas has learned that, while sex and food are quite equal in Dean’s eyes, if he’s hungry, all bets are off.)

Dean makes him sit at the granite-top bar in the kitchen while he cooks. Cas would be more irritated at the continued attempts to coddle him, but it does give him a fine view of Dean’s spectacular ass, so he decides to pick his battles.

He’s watching said ass shake a little as Dean hums along to a song in his head. As he does so, Cas reflects on how much his life has changed in the last twenty-four hours.

Exactly one day ago, he was sitting down for dinner with his mother. Well, he was sitting down to TV dinners with his mother, because although Naomi stopped cooking years ago, she never stopped insisting they eat at the kitchen table. He was staring down at the watery spaghetti and rock hard hunk of garlic bread with disgust when she asked about his grades. Because his mind hadn’t switched from "school” mode to “don’t get your ass beat” mode, he answered sarcastically, which  _ she _ answered with a hard hit to his face.

Now, he’s watching Dean put the finishing touches on spaghetti that looks and smells  _ much _ better. Instead of stony silence, he’s listening to Dean hum in his lovely, deep voice, in between talking to Cas about anything that pops into his head.

Though he’s still fighting off the thought that he doesn’t deserve this, and that it will be taken away from him at any moment, Cas tries to keep his head in the here and now. Tries to believe Dean when he says that this feeling is real, and that this feeling is mutual.

* * *

Dean watches Cas as closely as he can while he cooks. That…  _ Whatever _ it was when they got home  _ (because he’s staying with me and this is his home now) _ really freaked Dean out.

In his head, he knows that Cas got scared because some part of Cas doesn’t believe it when Dean says he can stay here, that he’ll take care of him. The voice of self-doubt, however, has snuck back into Dean’s head, saying things like,  _ he’ll never stay with you, _ and  _ what makes you think you can care for someone who’s been what he’s been through? _ He tries to keep those thoughts at bay, but it’s kind of hard.

The feeling of Cas’ heavy blue gaze on him helps. He puts a little extra wiggle in his hips as he finishes dinner, and there’s something satisfying about knowing that you’re being watched by someone who basically wants to devour you.

* * *

Dinner is one of the most pleasant experiences that Cas has ever had. Dean cooked enough food to feed fifteen people, and the abundance in front of him isn’t something Castiel is used to. He also isn’t used to enjoying himself so much, watching Dean tell stories with his sparkling green eyes and wide, easy smile. If Castiel wasn’t so convinced that it takes longer than a few hours to fall in love with someone, he’d think he was already head over heels for Dean.

(He  _ is, _ in fact, already head over heels in love with Dean.)

* * *

After dinner, Cas lets Dean lead him again into the living room by joined hands. There’s a massive couch in there that he lets Dean push him onto. Partially because he’s so incredibly content that he couldn’t fight back even if he wanted to, and partially because the big brown couch looks like it’s the most comfortable thing he’ll ever lie on.

As he sinks down into the cushions, his suspicions are confirmed. He sighs gratefully, then turns his head so he can watch Dean select a DVD from the hundreds that line the shelves next to the TV.

“Quit staring at my ass, babe,” Dean says without looking back. Cas can tell he’s smirking.

“No,” he returns, easy.

Dean laughs and stands up, movie in hand. “Just asking for it now, aren’t you?” He still doesn’t turn around to look at Cas, but his voice has gone lower, has hit the cadence it had this morning.

Cas feels his cock twitch in interest, but Dean seems to be playing it cool. So he will, too. “Always,” he replies, and decides to ignore the way his voice rasps more than usual.

Dean puts the movie into the machine, gathers the remotes, and joins Cas on the couch. Both because of his remaining drowsiness and because of the dominance in Dean’s voice a moment ago, Cas again lets himself be manhandled at Dean’s will. He ends up with Dean spooned against his back again, and though he tries to deny it, he melts back against him. He feels a hot puff of air as Dean laughs a little, but he ignores that in favor of how comfortable he is. Dean wraps an arm around his waist and hits “play” on the remote with his free hand.

The whole thing would be completely innocent, just a new couple  _ (is that what we are are we a couple?) _ cuddling and watching a movie, if not for Dean’s hand. It’s pushed up under Cas’ shirt, in an echo of this morning, and his thumb is running back and forth on the skin of Cas’ belly.

Dean doesn’t acknowledge it at all, so Cas tries not to, either. He makes sure to regulate his breathing, and does not wrap his fingers around Dean’s wrist like he wants to.

Unfortunately, his concentration is completely focused on Dean now, so he’s not watching the movie at  _ all. _ If someone put a gun to his head, he wouldn’t be able to tell them what they’re even watching. The entirety of his perception has narrowed to the boy lying behind him, his hand up beneath his shirt.

Cas has no idea how long they lie there like that before he feels Dean’s lips on his ear. “Are you watching the movie, Cas?”

Unwilling to admit defeat, Cas grits out, “Yes.”

Dean tsks softly, and Cas knows he fucked up. “Really, now?” Dean purrs.

Cas can feel Dean’s erection pressed against his ass, so he  _ knows _ Dean’s feeling the tension in the air, too, but if he’s pretending to be unaffected, so can Cas. “Absolutely,” he insists, if a bit breathy.

Dean’s hand stays where it is, driving Cas  _ crazy. _ “Castiel,” Dean murmurs.

“Yes?”

“Are you familiar with the ‘red yellow, green’ system?”

Cas genuinely cannot help the whimper that escapes him. He feels himself harden fully, staining against his jeans. “Yes,” he finally whispers roughly.

“Good, good,” Dean hums approvingly, thumb still moving on Cas’ stomach. “Now, I’m gonna ask you a couple of questions. If you answer correctly and honestly, you’ll come right here, however you want.” He ignores the way Cas whines. “If I think you’re lying to me, or if you can’t answer, we’re doing whatever  _ I _ want. Do you understand?” At Cas’ desperate nod, “Good boy. First question, what’s your color?”

It doesn’t even take Cas a full second. “Green.”

Dean’s hand tightens on his belly. “Are you being honest with me, baby?”

“Yes, sir.” The title slips out without Cas’ express permission, but he lets it hang in the air, and he feels Dean shudder behind him. “Please, sir. I… I want this.” He feels himself blushing at the admission.

His embarrassment fades when he feels Dean’s lips curve into a smile against his ear. “Good boy. Shh, sweetheart, you’ll get it, as long as you can answer a question for me. What movie are we watching?”

Cas freezes.  _ Fuck! _ His eyes fly open (and when, exactly, did he close them?) to look at the television, but he knows it’s hopeless. He didn’t have a TV growing up, so he has no chance of recognizing the characters on the screen, and he’s been so incredibly zeroed in on Dean’s hand on his skin that he hasn’t been paying attention  _ at all. _

Cas knows this was a setup. He knows that Dean knows damn well that Cas has no way of knowing what the hell they’re watching. “I… I don’t know, sir,” he whispers.

“What was that?” Dean asks, taunting.

“I don’t know,” he says louder, his voice stronger.

Dean’s thumb stops it’s slow back and forth path, and Dean hums. “Well,  _ isn’t _ that  _ interesting?” _

His voice is so incredibly self-satisfied that, if Cas didn’t want whatever it is that Dean’s about to do so fucking bad, he’d try to say something cutting to wipe what he’s sure is a fairly smug smile off of Dean’s face.

The problem being, of course, that Cas very much  _ does _ want whatever Dean’s about to do.

Dean pulls his hand from beneath Cas’ shirt and hushes him when Cas makes a protesting whine in the back of his throat. “Shh, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere without you.” He stands, then reaches down to tug Cas by the hand to stand up with him.

When Cas is standing, Dean curls a hand around the back of his neck and presses his mouth to his. It takes him a moment, since this isn’t what he was expecting, but once he catches up, Cas reaches up, wraps both arms around Dean’s neck, and kisses him back with everything he’s got.

Dean groans deep from his chest and pulls Cas close with hands on his hips. When he licks the seam of Cas’ lips, he’s granted access immediately. Cas understands why so many women in romance novels swoon as Dean’s tongue expertly explores his mouth, making him shudder, light-headed.

Dean starts to slowly walk Cas backwards, and Cas goes pliantly. He doesn’t particularly care where they go, as long as Dean doesn’t stop kissing him.

So when Dean does finally pull away, Cas whines a little again. Dean just laughs softly, but the warmth in his eyes and the affection in the lines of his face, soften the blow a bit. “Baby, I want this as bad as you do,” another laugh at Cas’ disbelieving scoff, “but I also don’t want you to crack your skull open on the stairs.”

Cas turns to glare at the offending structure, and feels Dean’s hot, wet breath at his ear again.

“So here’s what we’re gonna do,” Dean whispers, a soft rumble in Cas’ ear that makes him gasp and shudder. “You’re gonna to upstairs into the master bedroom. When you get there, I want you to take your shirt, shoes, and socks off. Then I want you to lie flat on your back on the bed, legs spread, and I want you to  _ wait  _ for me. I don’t want you to move, I want you to cross your wrists above your head, near the headboard, and  _ wait. _ That clear, sweetheart?”

Cas’ breath has gone all shuddery and weird again. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.

“Good boy,” Dean coos, combing his fingers through Cas’ hair. “What’s your color?”

“Green, sir.”

“Okay, go on up there, baby. I’ll see you in a few.”

Cas scrambles up the stairs and to follow the orders he was given.

(Cas is… Incredibly relieved that Dean is okay with this, that they’re doing it this way for the first time. Cas has never had sex that didn’t have some power play dynamic involved, and he’s not sure that he’s ready to. This is known, this is  _ easy. _ He just does what he’s told, he just has to trust that Dean will take care of him, that Dean will make it good for him. Luckily for Cas, he trusts Dean implicitly. So it’s easy to strip away his snarky, prickly self, and to sink into his softer submissive role.)

Once in the bedroom, he toes off his sneakers, rolls his socks off, and shoves them into his shoes. He then strips his shirt off and tosses it into the clothes hamper he spies in the corner (doing so gives him a bit of a thrill, as it implies he’ll be here for a while). He carefully climbs onto the bed, flips himself onto his back, spreads his legs, and raises his arms above his head. He crosses his wrists, right over left, and lets himself be completely still.

He’s not sure how long he waits there for Dean, whether it’s a short or long time. He knows that he dances the line between clear perception and subspace, and that he remains hot and needy the entire time he waits. Other than that, he doesn’t keep track of anything else.

Which is why, when he feels a gentle hand on his knee, he starts a bit. His eyes fly open and he looks up at Dean, who’s staring at him with a half-lidded gaze, his eyes dark and wanting. It immediately makes Cas harder, makes him whimper a little at Dean’s touch, at his attention.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Dean breathes, “You’re just gorgeous, aren’t you?” Cas shudders at the reverence in Dean’s rough voice. “God, the things I want to do to you…”

“Yes,” Cas gasps, “Please,  _ please, _ sir-”

“Shh,” Dean runs a soothing hand up and down Cas’ thigh, though he doesn’t come close enough to Cas’ dick for his liking. “I’m gonna take care of you. We’re gonna do all those things we wanna do, but not tonight.” Dean’s eyes are impossibly hot and possessive. “Tonight, I’m just gonna fuck you good and hard, baby.”

Cas can’t help the way his hips jerk up at the words. “Please,” he whispers. There’s a frantic sort of energy thrumming beneath his skin, making it jump and twitch.

Dean slowly climbs onto the bed between Cas’ legs. He bends over to press a soothing, soft kiss to Cas’ left hip bone. “Shh, sweetheart, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas knew that, of course, and even if Dean  _ did _ leave, it’s not like Cas is tied down. He could leave, too. Something about hearing the words, though, takes something restless deep down in him and settles it down, soothes it. He stills a bit, relaxes into the soft comforter he’s lying on.

He feels Dean smiles against him. “Good boy,” he whispers before pressing another kiss onto his skin. "Now, I want you to reach up and hold onto the headboard, baby.” Cas does so immediately, weaving his fingers through the wrought iron design, keeping his wrists crossed as he does so. The way Dean’s eyes darken while he watches makes Cas shiver.

“Good, so good,” Dean rasps. “I want you to stay right where you are, sweetheart, okay? What’s your color?”

“Green,” Cas whispers, relaxing fully now that he has his orders, now that he’s restrained in some way, even if it’s only by his own willpower.

“God,” Dean breathes out, “you’re  _ perfect, _ baby.”

Dean starts a slow path up Cas’ torso. He alternates between chaste, closed-mouth pecks and open, sloppy,  _ filthy _ kisses where he sucks loving bruises onto the places Cas doesn’t already have them. There isn’t a lot of space like that.

“The next time you’re marked up like this,” Dean’s voice is dark with promise, “it’s gonna be from my mouth.” He places a gentle kiss on Cas’ bruised ribs. “No one’s ever gonna lay a hand on you again but me, you understand me?”

Emotion is threatening to close Cas’ throat, but he nods. “Yes, sir,” he whispers.

There’s tenderness in Dean’s eyes when he looks up at Cas. “Good. I’m gonna take care of you.” His face hardens back into dominance, which is just as comforting to Cas, though he’s warmed by Dean’s fierce protectiveness, too.

All thoughts of anything other than Dean’s mouth scatter when he feels Dean’s warm tongue lave over a nipple. Cas arches his back, moaning in frustration when Dean chuckles and moves with him, giving him no more than exactly what Dean wants to give. Dean doesn’t comment, just continues laying little kitten licks around Cas’ nipple until he’s a panting mess beneath him.

_ “Please,” _ Cas barely gets anything out beyond that before Dean takes that nipple between his teeth and puts just enough pressure there to cause shooting pain that makes Cas cry out, even as he pushes up into Dean’s mouth, begging for more. Dean pulls away just a bit, tugging the reddened flesh with him, making Cas jolt and whine. He looks down to see Dean’s eyes glued to him.

Dean finally releases Cas’ already sore nipple, then soothes it with long, slow licks. “Shh,” he purrs, making Cas realizes he’s keening softly. “You’re all right, baby, soon, so soon, you’re being so good for me.”

The praise calms Cas more, settles deep into his bones. He relaxes again even as he whimpers. Dean is kissing up now to his collarbone, where he bites down hard, making Cas gasp and twist, unsure if he wants to push in to get more of the delicious pressure or to pull away from the pain. Before he can decide, Dean releases him, then gently kisses the spot that Cas is sure is already reddening. “You’re so gorgeous, the things I wanna  _ do _ to you, Cas…”

“Tell me,” he gasps, quite without his authorization. “Please, sir, tell me.”

Dean looks up and grins. “Yeah?” He presses a quick, hard kiss to Cas’ mouth, then his lips are moving back down Cas’ neck. “You want me to tell you how I wanna spend an hour opening you up on my tongue?” he whispers roughly, and Cas’ eyes roll back in his head just a little. “Wanna eat you out ‘till you  _ scream, _ sweetheart. I wanna hear that ridiculous voice of yours get so damn hoarse you can barely make any noise, and then I  _ might _ fuck you.” Dean moves quickly to the bedside table, opens a drawer, and pulls a couple of things out of it. He’s back on Cas quicker than he can look at what Dean retrieve, but it’s Dean’s  _ mouth _ on him, for God’s sake, and Cas has  _ priorities. _

“Oh,  _ fuck…” _

Dean is making his way down Cas’ torso now, pressing chaste little kisses to his chest, down his sternum. “Maybe I wanna plug your pretty ass up with a vibrator instead,” he murmurs between kisses. “Make you walk around town with me, just me and you knowin’ how much you love it, how much you want it to be  _ me _ inside of you instead of some plug.”

_ “Please…” _

Dean is finally,  _ finally _ undoing Cas’ jeans with quick, efficient motions. He tugs at the denim, and Cas is mindlessly raising his hips to help Dean pull those and his boxers off with a flourish. Dean stands and just surveys Cas with dark eyes, and Cas whines deep in his throat again when Dean palms his own prominent erection through his pants.

“Maybe someday I’ll tie you up,” Dean rasps, reaching over for what he got out of the nightstand. When Cas hears the  _ click _ of a cap, he feels his entire body shudder helplessly. He watches the  _ incredibly _ erotic sight of Dean lubing up his fingers, fighting to get  air in his lungs.

“Leave you up here while I work downstairs,” Dean is murmuring as he kneels between Cas’ legs, and there’s something so dirty hot about the fact that Cas is completely bare and Dean’s still clothed. He spreads his legs wider at Dean’s gentle nudge. “Get that plug back in you, a cock ring on you, keep you good and worked up for me.” A cold, slick finger at his rim, slowly massaging his furled entrance, making Cas whine again, because  _ fucking finally. _ “Come back up here whenever I feel like it, just fuck you stupid, then leave you here again.” He feels himself relax enough so Dean can sink a finger into him, up to the first knuckle. The sensation has him gasping and canting his hips up, forcing more of Dean into him, just where he wants him. Dean grins, but his chest is heaving, too.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? Let me use you all day, keep you on edge.” Dean’s moving his finger slowly in and out, so gentle it’s making Cas lose his mind a little. “You wouldn’t come until I said you could, you want that? Want me to tell you when you can come, when I’m damn good and ready for you?”

Cas feels a second finger sink into him as he moans,  _ “Please, _ fuck, oh, fuck…”

Dean chuckles, low and dark. “Yeah you do, Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ hot, I can barely stand it.” The hand that’s not inside Cas palms his own cock again, bringing Cas’ eyes to it. “See what you do to me?”

_ “Please, _ I’m ready, please-”

“Not yet, baby,” Dean leans forward, never stopping the motions of his fingers, scissoring and stretching Cas open, sending sparkling tension up and down his spine, and kisses Cas gently, reverent again. “‘M not gonna hurt you,” he whispers, looking into his eyes.

“I’m not made of  _ glass,” _ Cas protests, his hips moving with the motions of Dean’s hand insistently.

“Didn’t say you are,” Dean agrees, infuriatingly calm for someone who now has three fingers inside of Castiel, absolutely driving him to the brink. “But I’m not gonna hurt you, Cas, not this time. Not the first time.”

Before Cas can protest too much, or become too nervous that this is becoming more sincerity than kink, Dean pulls his fingers out completely. Cas gasps, his mind trying to wrap itself around what’s happening, before Dean puts his dry hand on Cas’ hip, stopping the restless motion. “Stay,” Dean orders, and Cas stills obediently. “Watch.”

Cas is completely helpless to do anything but obey when Dean steps back off the bed and starts to strip efficiently and quickly. This isn’t a tease, or a show, though he’s been told to watch. He can see it in every move Dean makes, the subtle tremble of his fingers. Dean wants this just as much as Cas does, and all of the prep and the buildup really was to take care of Cas. It makes him want Dean even more, and makes his heart thud harder in his chest, warmth twisting around him in some indefinable way that Dean’s hands couldn’t do on their own.

When Dean is finally naked, he gives Castiel a second to look him over, his broad shoulders, firm stomach, his bowed legs, and his proud cock, thick and just a tad longer than Cas’ own.  _ I want that in me. _

_ “Please, _ sir,  _ please _ fuck me.”

Dean grins, and it’s devastating and hot. “Impatient,” he says fondly, coming to his knees between Cas’ legs again. He reaches over to get the condom, tears it open with his teeth (unnecessary because he has both hands free, but undeniably sexy all the same). He rolls it on over his weeping cock, drizzles more lube on it, then on his fingers again. He presses them into Cas again, making sure there’s plenty of the lube everywhere, always making sure that Cas won’t be hurt. It makes Cas nervous in his heart again, but also makes him break out in a light sweat. He tilts his head back and moves with Dean’s hand again, until he pulls his fingers out and wipes them on the bedspread.

Dean gently takes Cas’ legs and moves them so they’re wrapped around his waist. Cas automatically locks his ankles at the small of Dean’s back, eager to get the show on the road already,  _ Jesus. _

He feels the blunt pressure of Dean’s cock at his rim before Dean stops again. “Color?” And now,  _ now, _ finally Dean sounds as cracked open and wanting as Cas is. His voice is rough with need, and his hands are gripping Cas’ hips tightly enough that there might be bruises (that Cas will  _ cherish) _ in the morning.

_ “Green,” _ Cas snarls, tilting his hips up. The angle forces Dean in, the head of his cock just making it past Cas’ rim, making them both moan loudly.  _ “Oh, fuck.” _

_ “Jesus, _ sweetheart,” Dean pants, clearly struggling for control. He takes a deep breath, or tries to as much as he can, then lets it out explosively. He nods to himself. “Okay, shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, and Cas tries to stem the little whimpers that are coming from him because  _ Dean is finally inside him. _

He starts to sink in slowly, giving Cas plenty of time to adjust, and Cas appreciates it, he really does. It’s just that Cas has wanted this from the moment he laid eyes on Dean, has wanted Dean in him and surrounding him and all over him, and now that he finally has it, he’s not super interested in taking his time with it.

“Sir,” he pants, and okay, maybe he’s a  _ little _ breathless, no matter how slow they're going, but it’s  _ Dean. _ “Please,” he whimpers.

“Color?”

_ “Green.” _

“Good,” Dean says softly, “then we’re gonna  _ do this my way, _ Castiel.”

Hearing his full name on Dean’s lips makes him shudder, which in turn makes Dean groan as he tightens around him. “Yes, sir,” he agrees, resigning himself to letting Dean set the pace, be it slow or fast.

It seems like forever before Dean is  _ finally _ buried to the hilt, his hips flush with Cas’ ass. Cas feels full, already a little fucked out. His core is trembling and taut, straining to keep him close to Dean. He keeps his legs locked around the other man, unwilling to let him go now.

“Color,” Dean grits out. His eyes are clenched shut, his face set in concentration. It’s incredibly attractive.

“Green,” Cas answers quietly.

Dean’s eyes open, and now Cas knows why they were closed. They blaze and burn down at him, the green almost completely overtaken by black, and Cas couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

Dean’s smile is almost feral, and it sends a thrill through Cas’ entire body.  _ “Good.” _

Dean withdraws almost completely before slamming back in, making Cas tilt his head back and cry out. He does it again, and again, and the rhythm is intense and brutal he’s tagging Cas’ prostate on almost every thrust and Cas fucking  _ loves _ it.

“That’s it,” Dean grunts, the sound of skin slapping together the soundtrack to which he fucks Cas, “louder, baby, scream for me. Want the fucking  _ neighbors _ to know how good you’re getting it.”

_ “Yes, _ oh,  _ fuck! _ Sir, yes,  _ fuck!” _ Cas’ vocabulary has shrunk to just a few words, monosyllabic, all he needs to tell Dean to keep going, to never stop.

“Good boy,” Dean croons, and there’s sweat gathering at his temples, in the dip of his collarbone, and Cas wants to lick it, to revel in its taste. He almost,  _ almost _ moves to do so, but he was told to stay where he is, so stay he does, though he does whine.

“God, you’re doing so well, look at you, wanna keep you here, like this, forever, Cas, keep you here with me, fuck you every day, just  _ look at you-” _

A familiar, tight ball of heat is gathering in Cas’ belly, making him moan and roll his head back and forth.  _ “Fuck, _ gonna come, sir, please, I’m gonna-”

“Good,” Dean snarls, letting go of Cas’ hips so he can fall forward to brace himself on his elbows above Cas. He presses his mouth to Cas’ ear, and the sound of Dean’s heaving breath so close is  _ doing _ things to Cas, sending him closer and closer to the edge. “Fucking do it,” Dean growls, “come on my cock, beautiful, wanna see you,  _ do it right now, Castiel.” _

Cas tilts his head back and  _ screams _ as he comes, heat and pleasure and  _ yes _ spiralling from where he’s connected to Dean outward, making him cry out and shake as he paints their chests with white.

_ “Fuck,” _ Dean groans again, and one, two, three thrusts and Cas feels him tense up above him, shuddering and twitching. He feels the warmth as Dean fills the condom, and hopes fervently, in his hazy, post-orgasmic mind, that Dean will skip the condom next time, that he’ll fill  _ Cas _ up instead.

Dean gives one final, full-body shiver before he reaches up to unwrap Cas’ hands from the headboard. His fingers are stiff and don’t want to move on their own, but Dean’s gentle coaxing pries them off. Dean gently rubs them with the hand he’s not using to hold himself up, then drops a firm kiss onto Cas’ forehead. It feels like a signal, the scene is over, they’re just Dean and Cas again, still connected intimately, sweaty and naked together.

Cas wraps his arms around Dean’s neck, and Dean lets himself collapse onto Cas. He would normally complain, because Dean’s kinda heavy, and because aftercare always makes him prickly and weird, but it just feels too good to have Dean this close. He keeps him that way, nosing at the sweat on his neck, pressing gentle kisses there.

Eventually, Dean gets up, ties the condom off and tosses it, and goes into the en suite bathroom to get a warm cloth. He cleans both of them up, letting Cas float in his post-orgasmic happiness. Once they’re reasonably clean, Dean gently pokes and prods Cas until he gets them both under the blanket. Dean flips the switch on the little bedside lamp, then curls around him protectively, tangling their legs together and pressing Cas’ back against his chest.

“Stop aftercaring me,” Cas grumps. Immediately after the words leave his mouth, he’s worried that Dean will think he actually means it.

Dean presses a kiss to his shoulder. “No,” he says without heat, and without moving an inch.

Cas smiles and settles back into his…  _ Whatever _ Dean is.

And whatever Dean is, Cas could get used to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gets my motor running.


	6. Epilogue - Ten Years Later

Dean’s speaking through a split lip, and he just  _ knows _ his eye is starting to swell. “I’m telling you guys, he’s gonna be  _ pissed-” _

Before he can keep telling his captors why this is  _ such _ a bad idea, the door explodes inward, sending shards of wood flying everywhere. Dean rolls his eyes as the men who were beating him twirl to face the intruder. “I  _ told _ you guys.”

Castiel stands in the doorway, wreathed in the light from the hall like some sort of avenging angel. He’s wearing the slacks they picked out together last week, a white dress shirt, and a dark waistcoat that emphasizes his slender waist. His hair is just as unkempt and wild as it was the night Dean met him, and his blue eyes are blazing with anger.

“Dean Winchester, I am going to  _ murder you.” _

Dean grins. When his loving husband leaves the “Novak” off of “Dean Novak-Winchester,” he really  _ is _ in trouble. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that-”

_ “Don’t _ you ‘baby’ me, Dean, I’m serious, this is the  _ last _ time-”

It’s a old routine, one they’ve done a million times, and it’s more comforting than if Cas came in and started fawning over Dean, declaring his undying love. That… That might actually freak Dean the fuck out, since Cas tends to be pretty stoic.

As they bicker, Cas comes forward, permitting Lucifer and Gabriel to enter the room behind him. They dispatch the two men who were holding Dean with a minimum of fuss, and Cas unties him.

Once his brothers are out of the room, carrying the unconscious (or dead, Dean wasn’t paying attention) men out over their shoulders, Cas cups Dean’s face in his hands as they stand. “Oh, Dean,” Cas says softly. “What am I going to do with you?”

Dean grins rakishly. “I have a few ideas.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but the twitch of his lips lets Dean know he’s been forgiven.

* * *

So, Cas took to the family business like a duck to water.

He earned John Winchester’s approval by being smart and ruthless, and by absolutely refusing to do any sort of “initiation” whatsoever.

“Mr. Winchester,” Cas said coolly, “if you think I’m not dedicated enough to your son to not betray you, you’re not nearly as smart as you think you are.”

Dean almost fainted in fear, Cas stayed calm, Gabe snorted, and John Winchester laughed so hard tears ran down his face before he clapped Cas on the shoulder. “Welcome to the family, son. Keep my boy in line for me.”

So now, Cas stands in line to inherit the entire damn thing when John goes. Not because John likes him more than he likes Dean (although Dean has his suspicions), but because Cas  _ wants _ it more. Cas is  _ good _ at this, the wheeling and dealing, the wining and dining, the socializing with people who think they’re better than him. Cas is also good at the part where he’s ruthless. He doesn’t enjoy killing people, but Dean has seen him do it without batting an eye.

In Cas’ defense, it’s always people who  _ deserve _ it. Like the Walkers, who Cas took down neatly and quietly, simply for having the audacity to lay a hand on Dean. Or Alistair’s gang when they tried to pick up where Azazel left off. Cas showed no mercy mowing them down and making sure they were put away forever. It was scary.

And hot. Like,  _ really _ hot.

Cas wants the family business because he knows he can make it flourish, that he can make sure that the people who depend on the Winchester gang are well taken care of. And Dean would follow Cas anywhere, so if Cas wants the business, Cas gets the business.

* * *

Later, sweaty and sated, Dean lies back while Cas gives in to the urge to fuss over him like a housewife whose husband has come home from war (Cas  _ hates _ it when Dean says that).

“Shut up,” Cas snaps, even as he dabs disinfectant on the split on Dean’s lip. “Smug doesn’t look good on you.”

Dean grins up at him. “Baby,  _ everything _ looks good on me.”

Cas sighs. “That’s true.”

Dean reaches up to cup his husband’s face, his heart swelling with emotion. “I love you, baby,” he says, his voice a little hoarse.

Cas smiles, adoration shining from his blue eyes. “I love you, too, handsome.”

* * *

The scrawny, angry kid that Dean met at a playground ten years ago is mostly gone, replaced with a cool, collected,  _ devastatingly _ handsome man who Dean loves to the point of distraction. The crazy, irrational connection they felt a decade ago is still there, still driving them both crazy, still bringing them back to one another.

Neither of them would have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback gets my motor running.


End file.
